-'.  ^  \  . 


LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 

AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

IN  MEMORY  CM- 
STEWART  S.  HOWE 
JOURNALISM  CLASS  OF  1928 


STEWART  S.  HOWE  FOUNDATION 


170 

1844 


EVEN    lECTlRES 


YOUNG   MEN, 


ON    VARIOUS    I^IPORTANT    SUBJECTS; 


DELIVERED     BEFOKE 


THE    YOUNG    MEN    OF    INDIANAPOLIS,    INDIANA,    DURING 
THE    WINTER    OF    1843-4. 


BY   HENRY   WARD    BEECHER. 


INDIANAPOLIS: 

PUBLISHED    BY    THOMAS    B.    CUTLER  : 

CHARLES  B.  DAVIS,  Bookseller  and  Stationer  : 

CINCINNATI,  Wji.  H.  Moore  &  Co. 

1844. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress:,  in  tiie  year  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  forty-four,  by 

HENRY    WARD    BEECHER, 
in  the  clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  within  and  for 
the  District  of  Indiana. 


Cutier  &  Chamberlain,  Printers. 


17c 


MJLu. 


LYMAN    BEECHER,    D.  D. 

To  you  1  owe  more  than  to  any  other  living  being.  In  childhood, 
you  were  my  Parent  ;  in  later  life,  my  Teacher  ;  in  manhood,  my 
Companion.  To  your  affectionate  vigilance  I  owe  my  principles, 
my  knowledge,  and  that  I  am  a  Minister  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  For 
whatever  profit  they  derive  from  this  little  Book,  the  young  will  he 
indebted  to  you. 


INDIANAPOLIS,  Jan.  9,  1844. 
Rev.  Henry  W.  Beecher, 

Dear  Sir. — The  undersigned,  having  listened  with  great  in- 
terest to  a  series  of  Lectures  to  Young  Men,  recently  delivered  by  you 
in  this  city,  are  persuaded  that  the  publication  of  them  would  be  emi- 
nently useful  to  the  public.  They,  therefore,  respectfully  request  of 
you  a  copy  of  the  Lectures  for  that  purpose,  under  the  conviction,  that 
by  a  compliance  with  their  wishes,  you  will  confer  a  lasting  benefit 
upon  the  young  men  of  this  country. 

Very  respectfully,  yours,  &c. 
HUGH  O'NEAL, 
S.  M.  HENDERSON, 
J.  S.  KEMPER, 
CHARLES  W.  CADY, 
ROBERT  B.  DUNCAN. 


INDIANAPOLIS,  Jan.  15,  J844. 
Rev.  Henry  W.  Beecher, 

Dear  Sir. — The  Lectures  delivered  by  you  in  this  city,  dur- 
ing the  present  winter,  have  afforded  much  gratification  to  a  numerous 
auditory;  and  will,  we  believe,  have  a  beneficial  influence  in  arresting 
the  progress  of  the  vices,  against  the  prevalence  of  which  they  were 
directed.  That  their  usefulness  may  be  extended  beyond  the  place  of 
their  delivery,  permit  us  to  request  you  to  authorize  their  publication 
in  a  book  form;  confident  as  we  are,  that  their  merits  will  be  highly 
appreciated  by  an  intelligent  community. 

We  are,  dear  sir,  yours  respectfully, 

JOHN  D.  DEFREES,  of  St.  Joseph, 
W.  T.  S.  CORNETT,  of  Ripley, 
SAMUEL  W.  PARKER,  o/Fa^e«e, 
OLIVER  H.  SMITH,  of  Marion, 
CALVIN  FLETCHER,  of  Marion, 
JOHN  DOWLING,  of  Vigo, 
PINCKNEY  JAMES,  of  Dearborn, 
SAMUEL  MERRILL,  o/ JUanoji. 


CONTENTS. 


Lect.  I.        INDUSTRY  AND  IDLENESS, 1 

Lect.  II.  TWELVE  CAUSES  OF  DISHONESTY,    ...       31 

Lect.  III.    SIX  WARNINGS, 57 

Lect.  IV.    THE  PORTRAIT-GALLERY, 77 

Lect.  V.  GAMBLERS  AND  GAMBLING,     ....           103 

Lect.  VI.    THE  STRANGE  WOMAN, 131 

Lect.  VII.    POPULAR  AMUSEMENTS, 167 


LECTURE    1. 


Give  us  this  (lay  our  daily  bread.     Matt.  vi.  11. 

This  we  commanded  you,  that  if  any  would  not  work,  neither  should 
he  eat.  For  we  hear  that  there  are  some  who  walk  among  you  dis- 
orderly, working  not  at  all,  but  are  busybodies.  Now  them  that 
are  such  we  command  and  exhort  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
that  with  quietness  they  work,  and  eat  their  own  bread.  2  Thess. 
iii.  10,  12. 

The  bread  which  we  solicit  of  God,  he  gives  us 
through  our  own  Industry.  Prayer  sows  it,  and  Indus- 
try reaps  it. 

As  Industry  is  habitual  activity  in  some  useful  pursuit, 
so,  not  only  inactivity,  but  also  all  efforts  without  the 
design  of  usefulness,  are  of  the  nature  of  Idleness.  The 
supine  sluggard  is  no  more  indolent  than  the  bustling 
do-nothing.  Men  may  walk  much,  and  read  much,  and 
talk  much,  and  pass  the  day  without  an  unoccupied 
moment,  and  yet  be  substantially  idle;  because  Indus- 
try requires,  at  least,  the  intention  of  usefulness.  But 
gadding,  gazing,  lounging,  mere  pleasure-mongering,  rea- 
ding for  the  relief  of  ennui^ — these  are  as  useless  as 
sleeping,  or  dozing,  or  the  stupidity  of  a  surfeit.  A  bee 
is  not  more  active  than  a  fly,  but  it  is  more  industrious, — 
for  it  is  usefully  diligent:  but  the  fly  has  no  end  in  life, 
but  vexatious  buzzing  and  prying  impertinence.  * 

1 


'Z  INDUSTRY      AND 

There  are  many  grades  of  idleness;  and  veins  of  it 
run  through  the  most  industrious  life.  We  shall  indulge 
in  some  descriptions  of  the  various  classes  of  idlers,  and 
leave  the  reader  to  judge,  if  he  be  an  indolent  man,  to 
which  class  he  belongs. 

1.  The  lazy-man. — He  is  of  a  very  ancient  pedi- 
gree; for  his  family  is  minutely  described  by  Solo- 
mon: "How  long  wilt  thou  sleep,  O  sluggard?  when 
wilt  thou  awake  out  of  sleep?"  This  is  the  language 
of  impatience;  the  speaker  has  been  trying  to  awake 
him — pulling,  pushing,  rolling  him  over,  and  shouting 
in  his  ear;  but  all  to  >  no  purpose.  He  soliloquizes, 
whether  it  is  possible  for  the  man  ever  to  wake  up! 
At  length,  the  sleeper  drawls  out  a  dozing  petition 
to  be  let  alone:  "  Yet  a  little  sleep,  a  little  slumber,  a 
little  folding  of  the  hands  to  sleep;"  and  the  last  words 
confusedly  break  into  a  snore, — that  somnolent  lullaby  of 
repose.  Long  ago  the  birds  have  finished  their  matins, 
the  sun  has  advanced  full  high,  the  dew  has  gone  from 
the  grass,  and  the  labors  of  Industry  are  far  in  progress, 
when  our  sluggard,  awakened  by  his  very  efforts  to 
maintain  sleep,  slowly  emerges  to  perform  life's  great 
duty  o{  feeding — with  him,  second  only  in  importance 
to  sleep.  And  now,  well  rested,  and  suitably  nourished, 
surely  he  will  abound  in  labor.  "  The  sluggard  will  not 
plough  by  reason  of  the  cold."  It  is  yet  early  spring; 
there  is  ice  in  the  north;  and  the  winds  are  hearty:  so 
his  tender  skin  shrinks  from  exposure,  and  he  waits  for 
milder  days, — envying  the  residents  of  tropical  climates, 
where  cold  never  comes,  and  harvests  wave  sponta- 
neously. He  is  valiant  at  sleeping  and  at  the  trencher; 
but  for  other  courage,  "  the  slothful  man  saith,  there  is 


I  D  LENESS. 


a  lion  without;  I  shall  be  slain  in  the  street."  He  has 
not  been  out  to  see;  but  he  heard  a  noise,  and  reso- 
lutely betakes  himself  to  prudence.  Under  so  thriving 
a  manager,  so  alert  in  the  morning,  so  busy  through  the 
day,  and  so  enterprising,  we  might  anticipate  the  thrift 
of  his  husbandry.  "  I  went  by  the  field  of  the  slothful 
and  by  the  vineyard  of  the  man  void  of  understanding; 
and  lo!  it  was  all  grown  over  with  thorns,  and  nettles 
had  covei'ed  the  face  of  it,  and  its  stone  wall  v/as  bro- 
ken down."  To  complete  the  picture,  only  one  thing 
more  is  wanted — a  description  of  his  house — and  then 
we  should  have,  at  one  view,  the  lazy-man,  his  farm,  and 
house.  Solomon  has  given  us  that  also:  "By  much 
sloth  fulness  the  building  decayeth;  and  through  idleness 
of  the  hands  the  house  droppeth  through."  Let  all  this 
be  put  together,  and  possibly  some  reader  may  find  an 
unpleasant  resemblance  to  his  own  affairs. 

Long  and  late  sleeping,  stupid  lounging,  with  indolent 
eyes,  sleepily  rolling  over  neglected  work;  neglected  be- 
cause it  is  too  cold  in  spring,  and  too  hot  in  summer, 
and  too  laborious  at  all  times — a  great  coward  in  dan- 
ger, and  therefore  very  blustering  in  safety.  His  lands 
running  to  waste,  his  fences  dilapidated,  his  crops  chiefly 
of  weeds  and  brambles;  a  shattered  house,  the  side  lean- 
ing over  as  if  wishing,  like  its  owner,  to  lie  down  to 
sleep;  the  chimney  tumbling  down,  the  roof  breaking  in, 
with  moss  and  grass  sprouting  in  its  crevices;  the  well 
without  pump  or  windlass,  and  its  water  drawn  up  by  a 
clothes-line,  or  a  grape  vine,  with  sometimes  a  pail,  or 
jug,  or  iron  pot  affixed. 

This  is  the  very  castle  of  Indolence; — I  would 
rather  be  a  stall-fed  ox,  than  to  be  its  owner;  for  an  ox 


4  INDUSTRYAND 

answers  his  end,  alive  or  dead;  but  a  lazy  man  is  good 
for  nothing,  dead  or  alive. 

2.  Another  idler  as  useless,  but  vastly  more  active 
than  the  last,  attends  closely  to  every  one's  business, 
except  his  own.  His  wile  earns  the  children's  bread, 
and  his;  procures  her  own  raiment  and  his;  she  pro- 
cures the  wood;  she  procures  the  water,  while  he,  with 
hands  in  his  pocket,  is  busy  watching  the  building  of  a 
neighbor's  barn;  or  advising  another  neighbor  how  to 
trim  and  train  his  vines;  or  he  has  heard  of  sickness  in 
a  friend's  family,  and  is  there,  to  suggest  a  hundred 
cures,  and  to  do  every  thing  but  to  help;  he  is  a  spec- 
tator of  shooting  matches,  a  stickler  for  a  ring  and  fair 
play  at  every  fight.  He  knows  all  the  stories  of  all  the 
families  that  live  in  the  town.  If  he  can  catch  a  stranger 
at  the  tavern  in  a  rainy  day,  he  pours  out  a  strain  of 
information,  a  pattering  of  words,  as  thick  as  the  rain- 
drops out  of  doors.  He  has  good  advice  to  every  body, 
how  to  save,  how  to  make  money,  how  to  do  every 
thing;  he  can  tell  the  saddler  about  his  trade,  he  gives 
advice  to  the  smith  about  his  work,  and  goes  over  with 
him  when  it  is  forged  to  see  the  carriage-maker  put  it 
on,  suggests  improvements,  advises  this  paint  or  that 
varnish,  criticises  the  finish,  or  praises  the  trimmings. 
He  is  a  violent  reader  of  newspapers,  almanacs,  and 
receipt  books;  and  with  scraps  of  history  and  mutilated 
anecdotes,  he  faces  the  very  school  master,  and  regards 
himself  a  match  for  the  minister,  and  gives  up  only  to 
the  volubility  of  the  oily  village  lawyer, — few  have 
the  hardihood  to  match  him. 

And  thus  every  day  he  bustles  through  his  multifa- 
rious idleness,  and  completes  his  circle  of  visits,  as  regu- 


IDLENESS.  5 

larly  as  the  pointers  of  a  clock  visit  each  figure  on  the 
dial  plate;  but  alas!  the  clock  forever  tells  man  the 
useful  lesson  of  time  passing  steadily  away,  and  return- 
ing never;  but  what  useful  thing  do  these  busy  buzzing 
idlers  perform? 

3.  We  introduce  another  idler.  He  follows  no  voca- 
tion; he  only  follows  those  who  do.  Sometimes  he 
sweeps  along  the  streets,  with  consequential  gait;  some- 
times perfumes  it  with  wasted  odors  of  tobacco.  He 
also  haunts  sunny  benches,  or  breezy  piazzas.  His  busi- 
ness is  to  see;  his  desire  to  be  seen,  and  no  one  fails 
to  see  him, — so  gaudily  dressed,  his  hat  sitting  aslant 
upon  a  wilderness  of  hair,  like  a  bird  half  startled  from 
its  nest,  and  every  thread  arranged  to  provoke  atten- 
tion. He  is  a  man  of  honor;  not  that  he  keeps  his  word 
or  shrinks  from  meanness.  He  defrauds  his  laundress, 
his  tailor,  and  his  landlord.  He  drinks  and  smokes  at 
other  men's  expense.  He  gambles  and  swears — and 
fights,  when  he  is  too  drunk  to  be  afraid ;  but  still  he 
is  a  man  of  honor,  for  he  has  whiskers  and  looks  fierce, 
and  wishes  very  much  to  have  mustachios,  and  says, 
"m/?07i  7ny  honor ^  sir;'^  "  do  you  doubt  my  honor ^  sir?''"' 

Thus  he  appears  by  day;  by  night  he  does  not  appear: 
he  may  be  dimly  seen  flitting;  his  voice  may  be  heard 
loud  in  the  carousal  of  some  refection  cellar,  or  above 
the  songs  and  uproar  of  a  midnight  return,  and  home 
staggering.  This  well  dressed  creature  is  only  a  dis- 
guised beast;  take  from  him  articulate  speech,  and 
thrust  him  over  upon  his  hands,  and  the  natural  j)hiloso- 
pher  would  classify  him  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

4.  The  next  of  this  brotherhood  excites  our  pity. 
He  began  life  most  thriftily,  for  his  rising  family  he  was 

1* 


6  INDUSTRY      AND 

gathering  an  ample  subsistence,  but  involved  in  other 
men's  affairs,  he  went  dovi'n  in  their  ruin.  Late  in 
hfe  lie  begins  once  more,  and  at  length  just  secure 
of  an  easy  competence,  his  ruin  is  compassed  again. 
He  sits  down  quietly  under  it,  complains  of  no  one, 
envies  no  one,  refuseth  the  cup,  and  is  even  more  pure 
in  morals,  than  in  better  days.  He  moves  on  from  day 
to  day,  as  one  who  walks  under  a  spell — it  is  the  spell 
of  lethargy,  of  dispondency,  which  nothing  can  disen- 
chant or  arouse.  He  neither  seeks  work  nor  refuses  it. 
He  wanders  among  men  a  dreaming  gazer,  poorly  clad, 
always  kind,  always  irresolute;  able  to  plan  nothing  for 
himself,  nor  to  execute  what  others  have  planned  for 
him.  He  lives  and  he  dies  a  discouraged  man,  and  the 
most  harmless  and  excusable  of  all  idlers. 

5.  I  have  not  mentioned  the  fashionable  idler,  whose 
riches  defeat  every  object  for  which  God  gave  him  birth. 
He  has  a  fine  form,  and  manly  beauty,  and  the  chief 
end  of  life  is  to  display  it.  With  notable  diligence  he 
ransacks  the  market  for  rare  and  curious  fabrics,  for 
costly  seals,  and  chains,  and  rings.  A  coat  poorly  fitted 
is  the  unpardonable  sin  of  his  creed.  He  meditates  upon 
cravats,  employs  a  profound  discrimination  in  select- 
ing a  hat,  or  a  vest,  and  adopts  his  conclusions  upon 
the  tastefulness  of  a  button  or  a  collar,  with  the  delib- 
eration of  a  statesman.  Thus  caparisoned,  he  saunters 
in  fashionable  galleries,  or  flaunts  in  stylish  equipage, 
or  parades  the  streets  with  simpering  belles,  or  delights 
their  itching  ears  with  compliments  of  flattery,  or  with 
choicely  culled  scandal.  He  is  a  reader  of  fictions,  if 
they  be  not  too  substantial;  a  writer  of  cards  and  billet- 
doux,  and  is  especially  conspicuous  in  albums.     Gay  and 


IDLENESS.  7 

frivolous,  rich  and  useless,  polished  till  the  enamel  is 
worn  off;  his  whole  life  serves  only  to  make  him  an 
animated  puppet  of  pleasure.  He  is  as  corrupt  in  im- 
agination as  he  is  refined  in  manners;  he  is  as  selfish 
in  private  as  he  is  generous  in  public;  and  even  what 
he  gives  to  another,  is  given  for  his  own  sake.  He 
worships  where  fashion  worships — to  day  at  a  theatre — 
to  morrow  at  a  church,  as  either  exhibits  the  whi- 
test hand,  or  the  most  polished  actor.  A  gaudy,  active 
and  indolent  butterfly,  he  flutters  without  industry 
from  flower  to  flower,  until  summer  closes,  and  frosts 
sting  him,  and  he  sinks  down  and  dies,  unthought  of  and 
unremembered. 

6.  One  other  portrait  should  be  drawn  of  a  business 
man,  who  wishes  to  subsist  by  his  occupation,  while  he 
attends  to  every  thing  else.  If  a  sporting  club  goes 
to  the  woods,  he  must  go.  He  has  set  his  line  in  every 
hole  in  the  river,  and  dozed  in  a  summer  day  under  every 
tree  along  its  bank.  He  rejoices  in  a  riding  party — a 
sleigh  ride — a  summer  frolic — a  winters  glee.  He  is 
every  body's  friend — universally  good  natured — forever 
busy  where  it  will  do  him  no  good,  and  remiss  where 
his  interests  require  activity.  He  takes  amusement  for 
his  main  business,  which  other  men  employ  as  a  relaxa- 
tion; and  the  serious  labor  of  life,  which  other  men  are 
mainly  employed  in,  he  knows  only  as  a  relaxation. 
After  a  few  years  he  fails — his  good  nature  is  some- 
thing clouded,  and  as  age  sobers  his  buoyancy,  without 
repairing  his  profitless  habits,  he  soon  sinks  to  a  lower 
grade  of  laziness,  and  to  ruin. 

It  would  be  endless  to  describe  the  wiles  of  idleness — 
how  it  creeps  upon  men,  how  secretly  it  mingles  with 


8  INPUSTRYAND 

their  pursuits,  how  much  time  it  purloins  from  the 
scholar,  from  the  professional  man,  and  from  the  arti- 
zan.  It  steals  minutes,  it  clips  oft'  the  edges  of  hours, 
and  at  length  takes  possession  of  days.  Where  it  has 
its  will,  it  sinks  and  drowns  employment;  but  where 
necessity,  or  ambition,  or  duty  resist  such  violence,  then 
indolence  makes  labor  heavy;  scatters  the  attention; 
puts  us  to  our  tasks  with  wandering  thoughts,  with 
irresolute  purposes,  and  with  dreamy  visions.  Thus 
when  it  may,  it  plucks  out  hours  and  rules  over  them; 
and  where  this  may  not  be,  it  lurks  around  them  to  im- 
pede the  sway  of  industry,  and  turn  her  seeming  toils 
to  subtle  idleness.  Against  so  mischievous  an  enchan- 
tress, we  should  be  duly  armed.  I  shall,  therefore, 
describe  the  advantages  of  Industry,  and  the  evils  of 
Indolence. 

1.  A  hearty  Industry  promotes  happiness.  Some 
men  of  the  greatest  industry  are  unhappy  from  infelicity 
of  disposition;  they  are  morose,  or  suspicious,  or  envi- 
ous. Such  qualities  make  happiness  impossible  under 
any  circumstances.  The  more  a  wholesome  soil  is 
worked,  the  more  fruitful  it  will  be;  but  to  plough  a 
morass,  would  only  cause  it  to  give  forth  its  deadly  ex- 
halations. 

Health  is  the  platform  on  which  all  happiness  must  be 
built.  Good  appetite,  good  digestion,  and  good  sleep, 
are  the  elements  of  health,  and  Industry  confers  them. 
As  use  polishes  metals,  so  labor  the  faculties,  until  the 
body  performs  its  unimpeded  functions,  with  elastic 
cheerfulness  and  hearty  enjoyment. 

Buoyant  spirits  are  an  element  of  happiness,  and 
activity  produces  them;  but  they  fly  away  from  slug- 


I DLEN  ESS.  V 

gishness,  as  fixed  air  from  open  wine.  Men's  spirits  are 
like  water,  which  sparkles  when  it  runs,  but  stagnates  in 
still  pools,  and  is  mantled  with  green,  and  breeds  cor- 
ruption and  filth.  God  rewards  with  a  peculiar  satis- 
faction, a  mind  in  the  daily  discharge  of  its  duty.  The 
applause  of  conscience,  the  self  respect  of  pride,  the  con- 
sciousness of  independence,  a  manly  joy  of  usefulness, 
the  consent  of  every  faculty  of  the  mind  to  one's 
occupation,  and  their  gratification  in  it — these  con- 
stitute a  happiness  as  superior  to  the  fever-flashes  of 
vice,  as  the  broad  and  serene  light  of  day  is  superior 
to  the  storm-gleams  of  lighthing  at  midnight.  Men  pro- 
fit by  man's  researches  in  the  useful  arts — in  the  sciences 
— and  in  the  fine  arts.  The  mariner  in  strange  seas, 
sails  with  the  chart  of  other  men's  voyages  before  him; 
and  by  their  discoveries  or  their  mishaps,  he  improves 
upon  the  track,  as  other  ships  will  upon  his.  If  on  life's 
sea,  men  were  thus  wise,  fewer  rovers  would  search  for 
the  golden  islands  of  happiness  in  seas,  where  they  are 
never  found.  After  an  experience  of  ages,  which  has 
taught  nothing  different  from  this,  men  should  have 
learned,  that  satisfaction  is  not  the  product  of  excess,  or 
of  indolence,  or  of  riches;  but  of  industry,  temperance, 
and  usefulness.  Every  village  has  instances  which 
ought  to  teach  young  men,  that  he,  who  goes  aside  from 
the  simplicity  of  nature,  and  the  purity  of  virtue,  to 
wallow  in  excesses,  carousals,  and  surfeits,  at  length 
misses  the  errand  of  his  life;  and  sinking  with  shattered 
body  prematurely  to  a  dishonored  grave,  mourns  that  he 
mistook  exhilaration  for  satisfaction,  and  admits  that  he 
abandoned  the  very  home  of  happiness,  when  he  for- 
sook the  labors  of  useful  Industry. 


10  INDUSTRY      AND 

The  poor  man  with  Indastry,  is  happier  than  the  rich 
man  in  Idleness;  for  labor  makes  the  one  more  manly, 
and  riches  unmans  the  other.  The  slave  is  often  hap- 
pier than  the  master,  who  is  nearer  undone  by  license 
than  his  vassal  by  toil.  Luxurious  couches — plushy  car- 
pets from  oriental  looms, — pillows  of  eider-down — car- 
riages contrived  with  cushions  and  springs  to  make 
motion  imperceptible, — is  the  indolent  master  of  these 
as  happy  as  the  slave  that  wove  the  carpet,  the  Indian 
who  hunted  the  northern  flock,  or  the  servant  who  drives 
the  pampered  steeds?  Let  those  who  envy  the  gay 
revels  of  city  idlers,  and  pine  for  their  masquerades, 
their  routes,  and  their  operas,  experience  for  a  week  the 
lassitude  of  their  satiety,  the  unarousable  torpor  of  their 
life  when  not  under  a  fiery  stimulus,  their  desperate 
enyiui,  and  restless  somnolency,  they  would  gladly  flee 
from  their  haunts  as  from  a  land  of  cursed  enchant- 
ment. 

If  a  young  man  will  learn  the  fruits  of  gay  idleness,  let 
the  physician  read  to  him  his  journal  of  fat  invalids,  plump 
hypochondriacs,  nervous  beauties,  complaining  belles: 
let  him  rehearse  the  midnight  vigils  over  a  pimple,  the 
anxious  nursing  of  a  finger,  the  prescriptions  for  the 
imagination,  and  the  endless  ingenuities  of  science  in 
defending  the  indolently  aflluent,  from  the  misery  of 
having  nothing  to  do, — and  he  may  well  believe,  that  the 
sturdy  health  of  the  plough-boy,  confers  more  happi- 
ness than  all  the  wealth  of  Astor. 

2.  Industry  is  the  parent  of  thrift.  In  the  overbur- 
dened states  of  Europe,  the  severest  toil  often  only  suffices 
to  make  life  a  wretched  vacillation  between  food  and 
famine;  but  in  America,  Industry  is  prosperity. 


'\- 


IDLENESS.  II 

Although  God  has  stored  the  world  with  an  endless 
variety  of  riches  for  man's  wants,  he  has  made  them  all 
accessible  only  to  Industry.  The  food  we  eat,  the  rai- 
ment which  covers  us,  the  house  which  protects,  must 
be  secured  by  diligence.  To  tempt  man  yet  more  to 
Industry,  every  product  of  the  earth  has  a  susceptibility 
of  improvement;  so  that  man  not  only  obtains  the  gifts 
of  nature  at  the  price  of  labor,  but  these  gifts  become 
more  precious  as  we  bestow  upon  them  greater  skill 
and  cultivation.  The  wheat  and  maize  which  crown 
our  ample  fields,  were  food  fit  but  for  birds,  before  man 
perfected  them  by  labor.  The  fruits  of  the  forest  and 
the  hedge,  scarcely  tempting  to  the  extremest  hunger, 
after  skill  has  dealt  with  them  and  transplanted  them  to 
the  orchard  and  the  garden,  allure  every  sense  with 
the  richest  colors,  odors,  and  flavors.  The  world  is  full 
of  germs  which  man  is  set  to  develope;  and  there  is 
scarcely  an  assignable  limit,  to  which  the  hand  of  skill 
and  labor  may  not  bear  the  powers  of  nature, — its  fruits 
and  its  flocks. 

In  this  land  of  plenty,  the  relation  between  Industry 
and  affluence  is  so  sure,  that  1  may  safely  say  that 
riches  are  the  sure  heritage  of  Industry,  and  poverty  is 
the  sure  offspring  of  Indolence.  The  scheming  specu- 
lations of  the  last  ten  years  have  produced  an  aversion 
among  the  young  to  the  slow  accumulations  of  ordi- 
nary Industry,  and  fired  them  with  a  conviction  that 
shrewdness,  cunning,  and  bold  ventures,  are  a  more 
manly  way  to  wealth.  There  is  a  swarm  of  men,  bred 
in  the  heats  of  adventurous  times,  whose  thoughts  scorn 
pence  and  farthings,  and  who  humble  themselves  to 
speak   of    dollars; — hundreds   and    thousands  are   their 


12  INDUSTRY      ANP 

words.  They  are  men  of  great  operations.  Forty 
thousand  dollars  is  a  moderate  profit  of  a  single  specu- 
lation. They  mean  to  own  the  Bank;  and  to  look  down, 
before  they  die,  upon  Astor  and  Gerard.  The  young 
farmer  becomes  almost  ashamed  to  meet  his  school 
mate,  whose  stores  line  whole  streets,  whose  stocks  are 
in  every  bank  and  company,  and  whose  increasing 
money  is  already  well  nigh  inestimable.  But  if  the  but- 
terfly derides  the  bee  in  summer,  he  was  never  known 
to  do  it  in  the  lowering  days  of  autumn. 

Every  few  years.  Commerce  has  its  earthquakes,  and 
the  tall  and  toppling  warehouses  which  haste  ran  up, 
are  first  shaken  down.  The  hearts  of  men  fail  them  for 
fear;  and  the  suddenly  rich,  made  more  suddenly  poor, 
fill  the  land  with  their  loud  laments.  But  nothing 
strange  has  happened.  When  the  whole  story  of  com- 
mercial disasters  is  told,  it  is  only  found  out  that  they, 
who  slowly  amassed  the  gains  of  useful  Industry,  built 
upon  a  rock;  and  they,  who  flung  together  the  imaginary 
millions  of  commercial  speculations,  built  upon  the  sand. 
When  times  grew  dark,  and  the  winds  came,  and  the 
floods  descended  and  beat  upon  them  both — the  rock 
sustained  the  one,  and  the  shifting  sand  let  down  the 
other.  If  Mammon  would  tell  its  secrets,  it  would  be 
known  that  while  Industry  inherits  wealth.  Speculation 
only  dreams  of  it.  One  is  the  heir,  and  the  other  the 
hungry  expectant.  If  a  young  man  has  no  higher  ambi- 
tion in  life  than  riches— Industry— plain,  rugged,  brown- 
faced,  homely  clad,  old-fashioned  Industry,  must  be 
courted.  Young  men  are  pressed  with  a  most  unpro- 
fitable haste.  They  wish  to  reap  before  they  have 
ploughed  or  sown.     Every  thing  is  driving  at  such  a 


IDLKNESS.  13 

rate,  that  they  have  become  giddy.  Laborious  occupa- 
tions are  avoided.  Money  is  to  be  earned  in  genteel 
leisure,  with  the  help  of  fine  clothes,  and  by  the  soft 
seductions  of  smooth  hair  and  luxuriant  whiskers. 

Parents,  equally  wild,  foster  the  delusion.  Shall  the 
promising  lad  be  apprenticed  to  his  uncle,  the  black- 
smith? The  sisters  think  the  blacksmith  so  very  smut- 
ty; the  mother  shrinks  from  the  ungentility  of  his 
swarthy  labor;  the  father,  weighing  the  matter  pru- 
dentially  deeper,  finds  that  a  whole  life  had  been  spent 
in  earning  the  uncle's  property.  These  sagacious  pa- 
rents, wishing  the  tree  to  bear  its  fruit  before  it  has 
ever  blossomed,  regard  the  long  delay  of  industrious 
trades  as  a  fatal  objection  to  them.  The  son  then, 
must  be  a  rich  merchant,  or  a  popular  lawyer,  or  a  bro- 
ker; and  these,  only  as  the  openings  to  speculation, — 
in  whose  realm,  are  supposed  to  lie  all  the  mines  of 
silver  and  gold. 

Young  business  men  are  often  educated  in  two  very 
unthrifty  species  of  contempt;  a  contempt  for  small 
gains,  and  a  contempt  for  hard  labor.  To  do  one's  own 
errands,  to  wheel  one's  own  barrow,  to  be  seen  with  a 
bundle,  bag,  or  burden,  is  disreputable.  Men  are  so 
sharp  now-a-days,  that  they  can  compass  by  their  shrewd 
heads,  what  their  father's  used  to  do  with  their  heads  and 
hands.  The  best  method  of  merchandising  may  be  thus 
stated.  Purchase  upon  credit,  hire  a  book-keeper  and  a 
salesman ;  smoke  your  cigar  while  they  conduct  your 
affairs;  and  if  you  make  nothing,  a  man  who  began  with 
nothing,  can  lose  nothing.  Would  you  practice  law? 
Go  to  an  eminent  attorney's  office,  read  Byron,  Bulwer 
and  Dickens.  Then  run  for  the  legislature,  and  by  the 
2 


14  IN  DUST  RY      AND 

exceeding  tlesert  of  filthy  services  rendered  to  the  party, 
be  sent  to  Congress,  and  tampering  ^vith  executive  va- 
nity, go  abroad  a  Minister  or  come  home  a  judge,  to 
make  decisions  in  term-time,  and  flirtations  in  vacation. 

Would  you  be  a  speculator?  Buy  up  some  thousands 
worth  of  produce  upon  credit,  run  it  to  New  Orleans 
and  cash  it;  return  home  and  break.  A  few  turns  thus 
well  planned,  will  leave  you  an  ample  fortune,  with 
which  to  visit  foreign  parts.  But  would  you  be  an  hon- 
est man, and  enjoy  a  competence,  with  pleasure  unknown 
to  the  hasty  wealth  of  sly  roguery? — Work.  Let  your 
sweat-drops  wash  your  gains  from  all  dishonesty. 
You  shall  live  to  tell  your  children,  that  you  have  ob- 
served or  felt  the  wisdom  of  the  Royal  Preacher  :  tcealth 
gathered  by  vanity  shall  be  diminished,  but  wealth  gathered 
by  labor  shall  ina-easc, 

3.  Industry  gives  character  and  credit  to  the  young. 
The  reputable  portion  of  society  have  maxims  of  pru- 
dence, by  which  the  young  are  judged  and  admitted  to 
their  good  opinion.  Does  he  regard  his  word?  Is  he  In- 
dustrious? Is  he  economical?  Is  he  free  from  immoral 
habits?  The  answer  which  a  young  man's  conduct 
gives  to  these  questions,  settles  his  reception  among 
good  men.  Experience  has  shown  that  the  other 
good  qualities  of  veracity,  frugality,  and  modesty,  are 
apt  to  be  associated  with  industry.  A  prudent  man 
w^ould  scarcely  be  persuaded  that  a  listless,  lounging 
fellow,  would  be  economical  or  trust-worthy.  An  em- 
ployer would  judge  wisely,  that  where  there  was  little 
regard  for  time,  or  for  occupation,  there  would  be  as 
little,  upon  temptation,  for  honesty  or  veracity.  Pil- 
ferings   of    the   till,   and   robberies,   are    fit    deeds   for 


IDLENESS.  15 

idle  clerks,  and  lazy  apprentices.  Industry  and  knavery 
are  sometimes  found  associated  ;  but  men  wonder  at  it, 
as  at  a  strange  thing.  The  epithets  of  society,  which 
betoken  its  experience,  are  all  in  favor  of  Industry. 
Thus,  the  terms  "  a  hard  working-man;"  "an  indus- 
trious man;"  "a  laborious  artizan  ;"  are  employed  to 
mean,  an  lionest  man  ;  a  trust-ivorthy  man. 

I  may  here,  as  well  as  any  where,  impart  the  secret  of 
what  is  called  good  and  had  luck.  There  are  men 
who,  supposing  Providence  to  have  an  implacable  spite 
against  them,  bemoan  in  the  poverty  of  a  wretched  old 
age  the  misfortunes  of  their  lives.  Luck  forever  ran 
against  them,  and  for  others.  One,  with  a  good  pro- 
fession, lost  his  luck  in  the  river,  where  he  idled  away 
his  time  a-nshing,  when  he  should  have  been  in  the 
office.  Another,  with  a  good  trade,  perpetually  burnt 
up  his  luck  by  his  hot  temper,  which  provoked  all  his 
employers  to  leave  him.  Another,  with  a  lucrative  busi- 
ness, lost  his  luck  by  amazing  diligence  at  every  thing 
but  his  business.  Another,  who  steadily  followed  his 
trade,  as  steadily  followed  his  bottle.  Another,  who  was 
honest  and  constant  to  his  work,  erred  by  perpetual 
mis-judgments; — he  lacked  discretion.  Hundreds  lose 
their  luck  by  endorsing  ;  by  sanguine  speculations ;  by 
trusting  fraudulent  men ;  and  by  dishonest  gains.  A 
man  never  has  good  luck  who  has  a  bad  wife.  I  never 
knew  an  early-rising,  hard-working,  prudent  man,  care- 
ful of  his  earnings,  and  strictly  honest,  who  com- 
plained of  bad  luck.  A  good  character,  good  habits,  and 
iron  industry,  are  impregnable  to  the  assaults  of  all  the 
ill  luck  that  fools  ever  dreamed  of.  But  when  I  see  a 
tatterdemalion,  creeping  out  of    a  grocery  late  in  the 


16  I  N  D  U  S  T  R  Y      A  N  D 

forenoon,  with  his  hands  stuck  into  iiis  pockets,  tlie  rim 
of  his  liat  turned  up,  and  the  crown  knocked  in,  I  know 
that  he  has  had  bad  luck, — for  the  worst  of  all  luck,  is 
to  be  a  sluggard,  a  knave,  or  a  tippler. 

4.  Industry  is  a  substitute  for  Genius.  Where  one 
or  more  faculties  exist  in  the  highest  state  of  develop- 
uient  and  activity, — as  the  faculty  of  music  in  Mozart, — 
invention  in  Fulton, — ideality  in  Milton, — we  call  their 
possessor  a  genius.  But  a  genius  is  usual///  understood 
to  be  a  creature  of  such  rare  facility  of  mind,  that  he 
can  do  any  thing  without  labor.  According  to  the 
popular  notion,  he  learns  without  study,  and  knows 
w  ithout  learning.  His  mind  does  not  absorb  knowledge, 
but  radiates  it.  He  is  eloquent  without  preparation  ; 
exact  without  calculation ;  and  profound  wiihout  re- 
flection. While  ordinary  men  toil  for  knowledge  bv 
reading,  by  comparison,  and  by  minute  research;  a 
genius  is  supposed  to  receive  it  as  the  mind  receives 
dreams.  His  mind  is  like  a  vast  Cathedral,  through 
whose  colored  windows  the  sunlight  streams,  painting 
the  aisles  with  the  varied  colors  of  brilliant  pictures. 
Such  minds  may  exist.  We  have  the  testimony  of  those 
veracious  chroniclers,  the  Poets,  that  they  do ;  and  nu- 
merous instances  are  pointed  out  in  a  class  of  fictions 
called  biographies. 

So  far  as  my  observations  have  ascertained  the  spe- 
cies, they  abound  in  academies,  colleges,  and  Thespian 
societies  ;  in  village  debating  clubs  ;  in  coteries  of  A'oung 
artists,  and  among  young  professional  aspirants.  They 
are  to  be  known  by  a  reserved  air,  excessive  sensitive- 
ness, and  utter  indolence ;.  by  very  long  hair,  and  very 
open  shirt  collars  ;  by  the  reading  of  much  wretched 


IDL  ENESS .  17 

poetry,  and  the  writing  of  much,  yet  more  wretched ; 
by  being  very  conceited,  very  affected,  very  disagreea- 
ble, and  very  useless  : — beings  whom  no  man  wants  for 
friend,  pupil,  or  companion. 

Setting  aside  these  apes  or  insects  of  Idleness,  who 
trouble  industrious  men  for  a  little  time,  and  then  take 
the  way  of  the  fly,  the  gnat,  the  musquito,  and  such  like 
buzzing  impertinences  ;  w^e  recur  to  the  class  of  men 
whom  God  has  largely  endowed  with  strength  and  ac- 
tivity of  mind.  The  occupation  of  the  great  man,  and  of 
the  common  man,  are  necessarily,  for  the  most  part,  the 
same  ;  for  the  business  of  life  is  made  up  of  minute  affairs, 
requiring  only  judgment  and  diligence.  A  high  order  of 
intellect  is  required  for  the  discovery  and  defense  of  truth  ; 
but  this  is  an  unfrequent  task.  Where  the  ordinary 
wants  of  life  once  required  recondite  principles,  they  wiU 
need  the  application  of  familiar  truths  a  thousand  times. 
Those  who  enlarge  the  bounds  of  knowledge,  must 
push  out  with  bold  adventure  beyond  the  common  walks 
of  men.  But  only  a  few  pioneers  are  needed  for  the 
largest  armies,  and  a  few  profound  minds  in  each  occu- 
pation may  herald  the  advance  of  all  the  business  of 
society.  The  vast  bulk  of  men  are  required  to  dis- 
charge the  homely  duties  of  life  ;  and  they  have  less  need 
of  genius  than  of  intellectual  Industry  and  patient 
enterprise.  Young  men  should  observe,  that  those  who 
take  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  mechanical  crafts,  of 
commerce  and  of  professional  life,  are  rather  distinguish- 
ed for  a  sound  judgment  and  a  close  application,  than 
for  a  brilliant  genius.  In  the  ordinary  business  of  life, 
Industry  can  do  any  thing  which  Genius  can  do  ;  and 
very    many    things   which  it  cannot.     Genius  is  usually 


18  INDUSTRY      AND 

impatient  of  application,  irritable,  scornful  of  men's 
duiness,  squeamish  at  petty  disgusts  : — it  loves  a  con- 
spicuous place,  a  short  v/ork,  and  a  large  reward.  It 
loathes  the  sweat  of  toil,  the  vexations  of  life,  and  the 
dull  burden  of  care. 

Industry  has  a  firmer  muscle,  is  less  annoyed  by  delays 
and  repulses,  and  like  water,  bends  itself  to  the  shape  of 
the  soil  over  which  it  flows ;  and  if  checked,  will  not 
rest,  but  accumulates,  and  mines  a  passage  beneath,  or 
seeks  a  side-race,  or  rises  above  and  overflows  the  ob- 
struction. What  Genius  performs  at  one  impulse.  Indus- 
try gains  by  a  succession  of  blows.  In  ordinary  mat- 
ters they  difl'er  only  in  rapidity  of  execution,  and  are 
upon  one  level  before  men, — Avho  see  the  result,  but  not 
the  process. 

It  is  admirable  to  know  that  those  things  which  in  skill, 
in  art,  and  in  learning,  the  world  has  been  unwilling  to 
let  die,  have  not  only  been  the  conceptions  of  genius,  but 
the  products  of  toil.  The  master-pieces  of  antiquity,  as 
well  in  literature,  as  in  art,  are  known  to  have  received 
their  extreme  finish,  from  an  almost  incredible  continu- 
ance of  labor  upon  them.  I  do  not  remember  a  book  in 
all  the  departments  of  learning,  nor  a  scrap  in  literature, 
nor  a  work  in  all  the  schools  of  art,  from  which  its 
author  has  derived  a  permanent  renown,  that  is  not 
known  to  have  been  long  and  patiently  elaborated. 
Genius  needs  Industry,  as  much  as  Industry  needs  Ge- 
nius. If  only  Milton's  imagination  could  have  conceiv- 
ed his  visions,  his  consummate  industry  only  could 
have  carved  the  immortal  lines  which  enshrine  them. 
If  only  Newton's  mind  could  reach  out  to  the  secrets  of 
Nature,  even  his  could  only  do  it  by  the  homeliest  toil. 


IDLENESS 


19 


The  works  of  Bacon  are  not  midsummer-night  dreams, 
but  like  coral  islands,  they  have  risen  from  the  depths 
of  truth,  and  formed  their  broad  surfaces  above  the 
ocean  by  the  minutest  accretions  of  persevering  labor. 
The  conceptions  of  Michael  Angelo  would  have  perished 
like  a  night's  phantasy,  had  not  his  industry  given  them 
permanence.  The  mind,  like  the  soil,  spontaneously 
gives  only  a  rank  luxuriance  of  useless  weeds,  and 
bitter  fruit;  and  only  then  is  its  treasure  worth  our 
hand,  when  toil  has  slain  the  weeds,  and  laborious  skill 
developed  a  luscious  fruit. 

From  enjoying  the  pleasant  walks  of  Industry  we 
turn  reluctantly  to  explore  the  paths  of  Indolence. 

All  degrees  of  Indolence  incline  a  man  to  rely  upon 
others,  and  not  upon  himself;  to  eat  their  bread  and  not 
his  own.  His  carelessness  is  somebody's  loss  ;  his  ne- 
glect is  somebody's  downfall  ;  his  promises  are  a  per- 
petual stumbling  block  to  all  who  trust  them.  If  he 
borrows,  the  article  remains  borrowed  ;  if  he  begs  and 
gets,  it  is  as  the  letting  out  of  waters — no  one  knows 
when  it  will  stop.  He  spoils  your  work  ;  disappoints 
your  expectations;  exhausts  your  patience;  eats  up 
your  substance  ;  abuses  your  confidence,  and  hangs  a 
dead  weight  upon  all  your  plans :  and  the  very  best 
thing  an  honest  man  can  do  with  a  lazy  man,  is  to  get 
rid  of  him.  Solomon  says  :  Bray  a  fool  loith  a  pestle^ 
in  a  mortar  with  wheat,  yet  -will  not  his  folly  depart 
from  liim.  He  does  not  mention  what  kind  of  a  fool 
he  meant ;  but  as  he  speaks  of  a  fool  by  pre-eminence,  I 
take  it  for  granted  he  meant  a  lazy-man  ;  and  I  am  the 
more  inclined  to  the  opinion,  from  another  expression 
of  his  experience  :  As  vinegar  to  the  teeth,  and  s?noke  to 
the  eyes,  so  is  the  sluggard  to  them  that  send  him. 


20  I  N  D  U  S  T  R  Y      A  N  I) 

Indolence  is  a  great  spendthrift.  An  indolently  in- 
clined young  man,  can  neither  make  nor  keep  property. 
1  have  high  authority  for  this  :  He  that  is  slothful  in  his 
work,  is  brother  to  him  that  is  a  great  waster. 

When  men  conduct  the  waters  of  a  neighboring 
spring  to  their  houses,  the  hollow  log  conveys  the  liquid, 
not  from  itself,  but  from  the  spring.  Property  flows 
through  indolent  men,  from  somebody  who  made  it,  to 
somebody  that  will  know  how  to  use  it. 

But  the  malignancy  of  Indolence  must  be  learned 
from  its  effects  upon  the  mind  and  morals.  The  mind 
becomes  like  a  noble  castle  abandoned  of  its  owner. 
Its  gates  sag  down  and  fall ;  its  towers  gradually  topple 
over ;  its  windows,  beaten  in  by  the  tempest,  give  en- 
trance to  birds  and  reptiles ;  and  its  stately  halls  and 
capacious  chambers  are  covered  with  the  spider's  tapes- 
try, and  feebly  echo  with  mimic  shrieks  of  the  bat,  blink- 
ing hither  and  thither  in  twilight  sports.  The  indolent 
mind  is  not  empty,  but  full  of  vermin.  If  the  ap- 
pointed passages  of  men's  passions  be  stopped,  like  the 
fountains  of  deserted  cities,  their  waters  flow  down  by 
unlawful '  ways,  to  moulder  and  destroy  the  palaces 
which  they  were  built  to  cheer. 

When  Satan  would  put  ordinary  men  to  a  crop  of 
mischief,  like  a  wise  husbandman,  he  clears  the  ground 
and  prepares  it  for  seed  ;  but  he  finds  the  idle  man  al- 
ready prepared,  and  he  has  scarcely  the  trouble  of 
sowing ;  for  vices,  (the  devil's  seed)  like  weeds,  ask  little 
strowing,  except  what  the  wind  gives  their  ripe  and 
winged  seeds,  shaking  and  scattering  them  all  abroad. 
Indeed,  lazy-men  may  fitly  be  likened  to  a  tropical  prai- 
rie, over  which  the  wind  of  temptation  perpetually 
blows,  drifting  every  vagrant  seed  from  hedge   and  hill, 


IDLENESS.  21 

and  which — without  a  moments  rest  through  all  the  year 
— waves  its  rank  harvest  of  luxuriant  weeds. 

First,  the  imagination  will  be  haunted  with  unlawful 
visitants.  Upon  the  outskirts  of  towns  are  shattered 
houses,  abandoned  by  reputable  persons.  They  are  not 
empty,  because  all  the  day  silent ;  thieves,  vagabonds 
and  strolling  women  haunt  them,  in  joint  possession 
with  rats,  bats,  and  vermin.  Such  are  idle  men's  imagi- 
nations— full  of  unlawful  company. 

The  imagination  is  closely  related  to  the  passions,  and 
fires  them  with  its  heat.  The  day-dreams  of  indolent 
youth,  glow  each  hour  with  warmer  colors,  and  bolder 
adventures.  The  imagination  fashions  scenes  of  en- 
chantment, in  which  the  passions  revel  ;  and  it  leads 
them  out,  in  shadow  at  first,  to  deeds  which  soon  they 
will  seek  in  earnest.  The  brilliant  colors  of  far-away 
clouds,  are  but  the  colors  of  the  storm ;  the  salacious 
day-dreams  of  indolent  men,  rosy  at  first  and  distant, 
deepen  every  day,  darker  and  darker,  to  the  color  of 
actual  evil.  Then  follows  the  blight  of  every  habit. 
Indolence  promises  without  redeeming  the  pledge ;  a 
mist  of  forgetfulness  rises  up  and  obscures  the  memory 
of  vows  and  oaths.  The  negligence  of  laziness  breeds 
more  falsehoods  than  the  cunning  of  the  sharper.  As 
poverty  waits  upon  the  steps  of  Indolence,  so,  upon 
such  poverty,  brood  equivocations,  subterfuges,  lying 
denials.  Falsehood  becomes  the  instrument  of  every 
plan.  Negligence  of  truth,  occasional  falsehood,  wanton 
mendacity, — these  three  strides  traverse  the  whole  road 
of  lies. 

Indolence  as  surely  runs  to  dishonesty,  as  to  lying. 
Indeed,  they  are  but  different  parts  of  the  same  road, 


22  INDUSTRY      AND 

and  not  far  apart.  In  directing  the  conduct  of  the 
Ephesian  converts,  Paul  says,  Let  him  that  stole,  steal 
no  more,  hiti  rather  let  him  labor,  working  with  his 
hands  the  thing  which  is  good.  The  men  who  were 
thieves,  were  those  who  had  ceased  to  work.  Industry 
was  the  road  back  to  honesty.  When  stores  are  broken 
open,  the  idle  are  first  suspected.  The  desperate  for- 
geries, and  svvindlings  of  past  years  have  taught  men, 
upon  their  occurrence,  to  ferret  their  authors  among  the 
miemployed,  or  among  those  vainly  occupied  in  vicious 
pleasures. 

The  terrible  passion  for  stealing  rarely  grows  upon 
the  young,  except  through  the  necessities  of  their  idle 
pleasures.  Business  is  first  neglected  for  amusement, 
and  amusement  soon  becomes  the  only  business.  The 
appetite  for  vicious  pleasure  outruns  the  means  of  pro- 
curing it.  The  theatre,  the  circus,  the  card  table,  the 
midnight  carouse,  demand  money.  When  scanty  earn- 
ings are  gone,  the  young  man  pilfers  from  the  till. 
First,  because  he  hopes  to  repay,  and  next,  because  he 
despairs  of  paying — for  the  disgrace  of  stealing  ten  dol- 
lars or  a  thousand  will  be  the  same,  but  not  their  res- 
pective pleasures.  Next,  he  will  gamble,  since  it  is 
only  another  form  of  stealing.  Gradually  excluded  from 
reputable  society,  the  vagrant  takes  all  the  badges  of  vice, 
and  is  familiar  with  her  paths  ;  and  through  them  enters 
the  broad  road  of  crime.  Society  precipitates  its  lazy 
members,  as  water  does  its  filth  ;  and  they  form  at  the 
bottom,  a  pestilent  sediment,  stirred  up  by  every  breeze 
of  evil,  into  riots,  robberies  and  murders.  An  idle  popu- 
lation in  a  city,  is  the  very  nest  and  hatching  place  of  all 
abominations.     Into  it  drains  all  the  filth,  and  out  of  it. 


IDLENESS.  23 

as  from  a  swamp,  flow  all  the  streams  of  pollution. 
Brutal  wretches,  desperately  hunted  by  the  law,  craw- 
ling in  human  filth,  brood  here  their  villain-schemes, 
and  plot  mischief  to  man.  Hither  resorts  the  truculent 
demagogue,  to  stir  up  the  foetid  filth  against  his  adver- 
saries, or  to  bring  up  mobs  out  of  this  sea,  whicii  can- 
not rest,  but  casts  up  mire  and  dirt. 

The  results  of  Indolence  upon  communities,  are  as 
marked  as  upon  individuals.  In  a  town  of  industrious 
people,  the  streets  would  be  clean  ;  houses  neat  and  com- 
fortable ;  fences  in  repair  ;  school  houses  swai'ming  with 
rosy-faced  children,  decently  clad,  and  well  behaved. 
The  laws  would  be  respected,  because  justly  adminis- 
tered. The  church  would  be  thronged  with  devout  wor- 
shippers. The  tavern  would  be  silent,  and  for  the  most 
part  empty,  or  a  welcome  retreat  for  weary  travelers. 
Grog-sellers  would  fail,  and  mechanics  grow  rich  ;  labor 
would  be  honorable,  and  loafing  a  disgrace.  For  music, 
the  people  would  have  the  blacksmith's  anvil,  and  the  car- 
penter's hammer  ;  and  at  home,  the  spinning-wheel,  and 
girls  cheerfully  singing  at  their  work.  Debts  would  be 
seldom  paid,  because  seldom  made ;  but  if  contracted, 
no  grim  officer  would  be  invited  to  the  settlement. 
Town-officers  would  be  respectable  men,  taking  office 
reluctantly,  and  only  for  the  public  good.  Public  days 
would  be  full  of  sports,  without  fighting ;  and  elections 
would  be  as  orderly  as  weddings  or  funerals. 

In  a  town  of  lazy-men,  I  should  expect  to  find  crazy 
houses,  shingles  and  weather-boards  knocked  off' ;  doors 
hingeless,  and  all  a-creak  ;  windows  stuffed  with  rags, 
hats,  or  pillows.  Instead  of  flowers  in  summer,  and 
walks   in   winter,  every  side  of  the  house   would  swarm 


24  1  N  D  U  S  T  K  y       A  N  D 

with  vermin  In  hot  weather — and  with  starvehng  pigs  in 
cold  ;  fences  would  be  curiosities  of  lazy  contrivance, 
and  gates  hung  with  ropes,  or  lying  flat  in  the  mud. 
Lank  cattle  would  follow  every  loaded  wagon,  suppli- 
cating a  morsel,  with  famine  in  their  looks.  Children 
would  be  ragged,  dirty,  saucy  ;  the  school  house  empty  ; 
the  jail  full;  the  church  silent;  the  grog-shops  noisy, 
and  the  carpenter,  the  saddler,  and  the  blacksmith, 
would  do  their  principal  work  at  taverns.  Lawyers 
would  reign  ;  constables  flourish,  and  hunt  sneaking 
criminals  ;  burly  justices  (as  their  interests  might  dictate) 
would  connive  a  compromise,  or  make  a  commitment. 
The  peace-officers  would  wink  at  tun)ults,  arrest  rioters 
in  fun,  and  drink  with  them  in  good  earnest.  Good  men 
would  be  obliged  to  keep  dark,  and  bad  men  would 
swear,  fight,  and  rule  the  town.  Public  days  would  be 
scenes  of  confusion,  and  end  in  rows  ;  elections  would 
be  drunken,  illegal,  boisterous  and  brutal. 

The  young  abhor  the  last  results  of  Idleness  ;  but  they 
do  not  perceive  that  the  Jirst  steps,  lead  to  the  last. 
They  are  in  the  opening  of  this  career  ;  but  with  them 
it  is  genteel  leisure,  not  laziness  ;  it  is  relaxation,  not 
sloth  ;  amusement,  not  indolence.  But  leisure,  relaxa- 
tion, and  amusement,  when  men  ought  to  be  usefully 
engaged,  are  Indolence.  A  specious  Industry  is  the 
worst  Idleness.  A  young  man  perceives  that  the  first 
steps  lead  to  the  last,  with  every  body  but  himself.  He 
sees  others  become  drunkards  by  social  tippling — he  sips 
socially,  as  if  he  could  not  be  a  drunkard.  He  sees 
others  become  dishonest,  by  petty  habits  of  fraud  ;  but 
will  indulge  slight  aberrations,  as  if  he  could  not  become 
knavish.     Though  others,  by  lying,  lose  all   character, 


IDLENESS.  25 

he  does  not  imagine  that  his  little  dalliances  with  false- 
hood will  make  him  a  liar.  He  knows  that  salacious 
imaginations,  villanous  pictures,  harlot  snuff-boxes,  and 
illicit  familiarities,  have  led  thousands  to  her  door, 
whose  house  is  the  loay  to  hell ;  yet  he  never  sighs  or 
trembles  lest  these  things  should  take  him  to  this  inevi- 
table way  of  damnation  ! 

In  reading  these  strictures  upon  Indolence,  you  will 
abhor  it  in  others,  without  suspecting  it  in  yourself. 
While  you  read,  I  fear  you  are  excusing  yourselves  ; 
you  are  supposing  that  your  leisure  has  not  been  lazi- 
ness ;  or  that,  with  your  disposition,  and  in  your  circum- 
stances. Indolence  is  harmless.  Be  not  deceived  :  if 
you  are  idle,  you  are  on  the  road  to  ruin :  and  there  are 
few  stopping  places  upon  it.  It  is  rather  a  precipice, 
than  a  road.  While  I  point  out  the  temptations  to  In- 
dolence, scrutinize  your  course  and  pronounce  honestly 
upon  your  risks. 

1.  Some  are  tempted  to  Indolence  by  their  wretched 
training,  or  rather,  wretched  want  of  it.  How  many 
families  are  the  most  remiss,  whose  low  condition  and 
sufferings  are  the  strongest  inducement  to  Industry. 
The  children  have  no  inheritance,  yet  never  work  ;  no 
education,  yet  are  never  sent  to  school.  It  is  hard  to 
keep  their  rags  around  them,  yet  none  of  them  will 
earn  better  raiment.  If  ever  there  was  a  case  when  a 
Government  should  interfere  between  parent  and  child, 
that  seems  to  be  the  one,  where  children  are  started  in 
life  with  an  education  of  vice.  If,  in  every  commu- 
nity, three  things  should  be  put  together,  which  always 
work  together,  the  front  would  be  a  grogshop^ — the 
middle  a  jail^ — and  the  rear  a  gallows; — an  infernal 
3 


26  I  N  D  U  S  T  R  Y      A  N  D 

trinity  ;  and  the  recruits  for  this 

are  largely   drafted   from  the  lazy  children  of  worthless 

parents. 

2.  The  children  of  rich  parents  are  apt  to  be  reared 
in  Indolence.  The  ordinary  motives  to  industry  are 
wanting,  and  the  temptations  to  sloth  are  multiplied. 
Other  men  labor  to  provide  a  support  ;  to  amass 
wealth ;  to  secure  homage ;  to  obtain  power ;  to  mul- 
tiply the  elegant  products  of  art.  The  child  of  afflu- 
ence inherits  these  things.  Why  should  he  labor  who 
may  command  universal  service,  whose  money  subsi- 
dises the  inventions  of  art,  exhausts  the  luxuries  of 
society,  and  makes  rarities  common  by  their  abun- 
dance 1  Only  the  blind  would  not  see  that  riches  and 
ruin  run  in  one  channel  to  prodigal  children.  The  most 
rigorous  regimen,  the  most  confirmed  industry,  and 
s^eadflist  morality  can  alone  disarm  inherited  wealth, 
and  reduce  it  to  a  blessing.  The  profligate  wretch,  who 
fondly  watches  his  father's  advancing  decrepitude,  and 
secretly  curses  the  lingering  steps  of  death,  (seldom  too 
slow  except  to  hungry  heirs,)  at  last  is  overblessed  in 
the  tidings  that  the  loitering  work  is  done — and  the 
estate  his.  When  the  golden  shower  has  fallen,  he  rules 
as  a  prince  in  a  court  of  expectant  parasites.  All  the 
sluices  by  which  pleasurable  vice  drains  an  estate  are 
opened  wide.  A  few  years  complete  the  ruin.  The 
hopeful  heir,  avoided  by  all  whom  he  has  helped,  igno- 
rant of  useful  labor,  and  scorning  a  knowledge  of  it, 
fired  with  an  incurable  appetite  for  vicious  excitement, 
sinks  steadily  down, — a  profligate,  a  wretch,  a  villain- 
scoundrel,  a  convicted  felon.  Let  parents  who  hate 
their  offspring  rear  them  to  hate  labor,  and  to  inherit 


IDLENESS.  27 

riches,  and  before  long  they  will  be  stung  by  every  vice, 
racked  by  its  poison,  and  damned  by  its  penalty. 

3.  Another  cause  of  Idleness  is  found  in  the  secret 
effects  of  youthful  indulgence.  The  purest  pleasures 
lie  within  the  circle  of  useful  occupation.  But  the  gol- 
den sand  of  pleasure  is  scattered  along  the  courses  of 
all  the  labors  of  love,  or  support,  by  which  the  family 
subsists.  Mere  pleasure, — sought  outside  of  useful- 
ness— existing  by  itself — is  fraught  with  poison.  When 
its  exhilaration  has  thoroughly  kindled  the  mind,  the  pas- 
sions thenceforth  refuse  a  simple  food ;  they  crave  and 
require  an  excitement,  higher  than  any  ordinary  occupa- 
tion can  give.  After  reveling  all  night  in  wine-dreams, 
or  amid  the  fascinations  of  the  dance,  or  the  deceptions 
of  the  drama,  what  has  the  dull  store,  or  the  dirty  shop, 
which  can  continue  the  pulse  at  this  fever-heat  of  de- 
light ?  The  face  of  Pleasure  to  the  youthful  imagination, 
is  the  face  of  an  angel,  a  paradise  of  smiles,  a  home  of 
love  ;  while  the  rugged  face  of  Industry,  embrowned  by 
toil,  is  dull  and  repulsive  :  but  at  the  end  it  is  not  so. 
These  are  harlot  charms  which  Pleasure  wears.  At  last, 
when  Industry  shall  put  on  her  beautiful  garments,  and 
rest  in  the  palace  which  her  own  hands  have  built — 
Pleasure,  blotched  and  diseased  with  indulgence,  shall 
lie  down  and  die  upon  the  dunghill. 

4.  Example  leads  to  Idleness.  Tlie  children  of  indus- 
trious parents  at  the  sight  of  vagrant  rovers  seeking 
their  sports  wherever  they  will,  disrelish  labor,  and  envy 
this  unrestrained  leisure.  At  the  first  relaxation  of  pa- 
rental vigilance,  they  shrink  from  their  odious  tasks. 
Idleness  is  begun  when  labor  is  a  burden,  and  industry 
a  bondage,  and  only  idle  relaxation  a  pleasure. 


28  .   INDUST  R Y    AN  D 

The  example  of  political  men,  office  seekers,  and  pub- 
lic officers,  is  not  usually  conducive  to  Industry.  The 
idea  insensibly  fastens  upon  the  mind,  that  greatness 
and  hard  labor  are  not  companions.  The  inexperience 
of  youth  imagines  that  great  men,  are  men  of  great 
leisure.  They  see  them  much  in  public,  much  ap- 
plauded, and  greatly  followed.  How  disgusting  in  con- 
trast is  the  mechanic's  life ;  a  tinkering  shop, — dark 
and  smutty — is  the  only  theatre  of  his  exploits ;  and 
labor,  which  covers  him  with  sweat  and  fills  him  with 
weariness,  brings  neither  notice  nor  praise.  The  ambi- 
tious apprentice,  sighing  over  his  soiled  hands,  hates  his 
ignoble  work  ; — neglecting  it,  he  aspires  to  better  things, 
— plots  in  a  caucus ;  declaims  in  a  bar-room  ;  fights  in 
a  grogshop  ;  and  dies  in  a  ditch. 

5.  But  the  Indolence  begotten  by  venal  ambition  must 
not  be  so  easily  dropped.  At  those  periods  of  occasional 
disaster  w^hen  embarrassments  cloud  the  face  of  com- 
merce, and  trade  drags  heavily,  sturdy  laborers  forsake 
industrial  occupations,  and  petition  for  office.  Had  I  a 
son  able  to  gain  a  livelihood  by  toil,  I  had  rather  bury 
him,  than  witness  his  beggarly  supplications  for  office  ; — 
sneaking  along  the  path  of  men's  passions  to  gain  his 
advantage  ;  holding  in  the  breath  of  his  honest  opinions  ; 
and  breathing  feigned  words  of  flattery  to  hungry  ears, 
popular  or  official  ;  and  crawling,  viler  than  a  snake, 
through  all  the  unmanly  courses  by  which  ignoble 
wretches  purloin  the  votes  of  the  dishonest,  the  drun- 
ken, and  the  vile. 

The  late  reverses  of  commerce  have  unsettled  the 
habits  of  thousands.  Manhood  seems  debilitated,  and 
sturdy  yeomen  are  ashamed  of  nothing  but  labor.     For 


IDLENESS.  29 

a  farthing-pittance  of  official  salary — for  the  miserable 
fees  of  a  constable's  office, — for  the  parings  and  perqui- 
sites of  any  deputy  ship,  a  hundred  men  in  every  village, 
rush  forward — scrambling,  jostling,  crowding, — each 
more  obsequious  than  the  other  to  lick  the  hand  that 
holds  the  omnipotent  vote,  or  the  starveling  office.  The 
most  supple  cunning  gains  the  prize.  Of  the  disap- 
pointed crowd,  a  few,  rebuked  by  their  sober  reflections, 
go  back  to  their' honest  trade, — ashamed  and  cured  of 
office-seeking.  But  the  majority  grumble  for  a  day, 
then  prick  forth  their  ears,  arrange  their  feline  arts,  and 
mouse  again  for  another  office.  The  general  appetite 
for  office  and  disrelish  for  industi-ial  callings,  is  a  prolific 
source  of  Idleness  ;  and  it  would  be  well  for  the  honor 
of  young  men  if  they  were  bred  to  regard  office  as  fit 
only  for  those  who  have  clearly  shown  themselves  able 
and  willing  to  support  their  families  without  it.  No 
office  can  make  a  worthless  man  respectable ;  and  a 
man  of  integrity,  thrift,  and  religion,  has  name  enough 
without  badge  or  office. 

6.  Men  become  Indolent  through  the  reverses  of  for- 
tune. Surely,  despondency  is  a  grievous  thing,  and  a 
heavy  load  to  bear.  To  see  disaster  and  wreck  in  the 
present,  and  no  light  in  the  future  ;  but  only  storms,  lurid 
by  the  contrast  of  past  prosperity,  and  growing  darker  as 
they  advance  ; — to  wear  a  constant  expectation  of  wo 
like  a  girdle ;  to  see  want  at  the  door,  imperiously 
knocking,  while  there  is  no  strength  to  repel,  or  courage 
to  bear  its  tyranny; — indeed,  this  is  dreadful  enough. 
But  there  is  a  thing  more  dreadful.  It  is  more  dreadful 
if  the  man  is  wrecked  with  his  fortune.  Can  any  thing 
be  more  poignant  in  anticipation,  than  one's  ownself, 
3* 


30  INDUSTRYANDIDLENESS. 

unnerved,  cowed  down  and  slackened  to  utter  pliancy, 
and  helplessly  drifting  and  driven  down  the  troubled  sea 
of  life  ?  Of  all  things  on  earth,  next  to  his  God,  a  bro- 
ken man  should  cling  to  a  courageous  Industry.  If  it 
brings  nothing  back,  and  saves  nothing,  it  will  save  him. 
To  be  pressed  down  by  adversity  has  nothing  in  it  of 
disgrace  ;  but  it  is  disgraceful  to  lie  down  under  it  like  a 
supple  dog.  Indeed,  to  stand  composedly  in  the  storm, 
amidst  its  rage  and  wildest  devastations ;  to  let  it  beat 
over  you,  and  roar  around  you,  and  pass  by  you,  and 
leave  you  undismayed, — this  is  to  be  a  man.  Adversity 
is  the  mint  in  which  God  stamps  upon  us  his  image  and 
superscription.  In  this  matter  man  may  learn  of  in- 
sects. The  ant  will  repair  his  dwelling  as  often  as  the 
mischievous  foot  crushes  it ;  the  spider  will  exhaust  life 
itself,  before  he  will  live  without  a  web ; — the  bee  can 
be  decoyed  from  his  labor  neither  by  plenty  nor  scar- 
city. If  summer  be  abundant  it  toils  none  the  less ;  if 
it  be  parsimonious  of  flowers,  the  tiny  laborer  sweeps 
a  wider  circle,  and  by  Industry,  repairs  the  frugality  of 
the  season.  Man  should  be  ashamed  to  be  rebuked  in 
vain   by   the   spider,  the  ant,  and  the   bee. 

Seest  thou  a  man  diligent  in  his  business,  he  shall  stand 
Iw.fore  kings,  he  shall  not  stand  before  ?nean  men. 


LECTURE    II. 


Providing  for  honest'  things,  not  only  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  but 
also  in  the  sight  of  men.     2  Cor.  viii.  21. 

Only  extraordinary  circumstances  can  give  the  ap- 
pearance of  dishonesty  to  an  honest  man.  Usually,  not 
to  seem  honest,  is  not  to  he  so.  The  quality  must  not 
be  doubtful  like  twilight,  lingering  between  night  and 
day  and  taking  hues  from  both ;  it  must  be  day  light, 
clear,  and  eflulgent.  This  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible  : 
Providing  for  honest  things^  not  only  in  the  sight  of  the 
Lord,  BUT  ALSO  IN  THE  SIGHT  OF  MEN.  If  the  needle 
traverses  in  the  compass,  you  may  be  sure  something 
has  attracted  it ;  and  so  good  men's  opinions  will 
point  steadily  to  an  honest  man,  nor  vibrate  without 
a  cause.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  no  one  has 
honesty  without  dross,  until  he  has  honesty  without 
suspicion. 

We  are  passing  through  times  upon  which  the  seeds 
of  dishonesty  have  been  sown  broadcast,  and  they  have 
brought  forth  a  hundred  fold.  These  times  will  pass 
away  :  but  like  ones  will  come  again.  As  physicians 
study  the  causes  and  record  the  phenomena  of  plagues 
and  pestilences,  to  draw  from  them  an  antidote  against 


32  TWELVE    CAUSES 

their  recurrence,  so  should  we  leave  to  another  genera- 
tion a  history  of  moral  plagues,  as  the  best  antidote  to 
their  recurring  malignity. 

Upon  a  land, — capacious  beyond  measure,  whose  pro- 
digal soil  rewards  labor  with  an  unharvestable  abun- 
dance of  exuberant  fruits,  occupied  by  a  people  signal- 
ized by  enterprise  and  industry, — there  came  a  summer 
of  prosperity  which  lingered  so  long  and  shone  so 
brightly,  that  men  forgot  that  winter  could  ever  come. 
Each  day  grew  brighter.  No  reins  were  put  upon  the 
imagination.  Its  dreams  passed  for  realities.  Even 
sober  men,  touched  with  wildness,  seemed  to  expect 
a  realization  of  oriental  tales.  Upon  this  bright  day 
came  sudden  frosts,  storms,  and  blight.  Men  awoke 
from  gorgeous  dreams  in  the  midst  of  desolation.  The 
liarvests  of  years  were  swept  away  in  a  day.  The 
strongest  firms  were  rent  as  easily  as  the  oak  by  light- 
ning. Speculating  companies  were  dispersed  as  seared 
leaves  from  a  tree  in  autumn.  Merchants  were  ruined 
by  thousands;  clerks  turned  adrift  by  ten  thousands. 
Mechanics  were  left  in  idleness.  Farmers  sighed  over 
flocks  and  wheat  as  useless  as  the  stones  and  dirt.  The 
wide  sea  of  Commerce  was  stagnant ;  upon  the  realm  of 
Industry  settled  down  a  sullen  lethargy. 

Out  of  this  reverse  swarmed  an  unnumbered  host  of 
dishonest  men,  like  vermin  from  a  carcass — or  wolves 
and  hyenas  from  a  battle-ground.  Banks  were  explo- 
ded,— or  robbed, — or  fleeced  by  astounding  forgeries. 
Mighty  companies,  without  cohesion,  went  to  pieces, 
and  hordes  of  wretches  snatched  up  every  bale  that 
came  ashore.  Cities  were  ransacked  by  troops  of  vil- 
lains.    The  unparalleled  frauds,  which  sprung  like  mines 


OF    DISHONESTY.  33 

on  every  hand,  set  every  man  to  trembling  lest  the  next 
explosion  should  be  under  his  own  feet.  Fidelity  seemed 
toJiave  forsaken  men.  Many  that  had  earned  a  reputa- 
tion for  sterling  honesty  were  cast  so  suddenly  headlong 
into  wickedness,  that  man  shrank  from  man.  Suspicion 
overgrew  confidence,  and  the  heart  bristled  with  the 
nettles  and  thorns  of  fear  and  jealousy.  Then  had  al- 
most come  to  pass  the  divine  delineation  of  ancient 
wickedness  :  The  good  man  is  perished  out  of  the  earth  : 
and  there  is  none  upright  a?nong  men  :  they  all  lie  in  wait 
for  blood  ;  they  hunt  every  man  his  brother  with  a  net. 
That  they  may  do  evil  ivith  both  hands  earnestly,  the 
prince  and  the  judge  ask  for  a  reward  :  and  the  great 
man  uttereth  his  mischievous  desire  :  so  they  wrap  it  up. 
The  best  of  them  is  a  brier  ;  the  inost  upright  is  sharper 
than  a  thorn  hedge.  *  *  *  Trust  ye  not  in  a  friend  ; 
put  ye  no  confidence  iii  a  guide;  keep  the  door  of  thy 
mouth  from  her  that  lieth  in  thy  bosom.  For  the  son  dis- 
honoreth  the  father,  the  daughter  riseth  up  against  her 
mother.  *  *  *  ^  mail's  enemies  are  the  men  of  his 
own  house."-  The  world  looked  upon  a  continent  of  in- 
exhaustible fertility,  (whose  harvests  had  glutted  the 
markets,  and  rotted  in  disuse) — filled  with  lamentation, 
and  its  inhabitants  wandering  like  bereaved  citizens 
among  the  ruins  of  an  earthquake,  mourning  for  chil- 
dren, for  houses  crushed,  and  property  buried  forever. 

That  no  measure  might  be  put  to  the  calamit}',  the 
Church  of  God,  which  rises  a  stately  tower  of  refuge  to 
disponding  men,  seemed  now  to  have  lost  its  power  of 
protection.  When  the  solemn  voice  of  Religion  should 
have  gone  over  the  land,  as  the  call  of  God  to  guilty  man 

a  Micah.  vii.   2—6. 


34  TWELVE    CAUSES 

to  seek  in  him  their  strength  ;  in  this  time  when  Religion 
should  have  restored  sight  to  the  blind,  made  the  lame 
to  walk,  and  bound  up  the  broken  hearted,  she  was 
herself  mourning  in  sackcloth.  Out  of  her  courts  came 
the  noise  of  warring  sects  ;  some  contending  against 
others  with  a  warfare  disgraceful  to  pirates  ;  and  some, 
possessed  of  a  demon,  wallowed  upon  the  ground  foam- 
ing and  rending  themselves.  In  a  time  of  panic,  and 
disaster,  and  distress,  and  crime,  the  fountain  which 
should  have  been  for  the  healing  of  men,  cast  up  its  sedi- 
ments, and  gave  out  a  bitter  stream  of  pollution. 

In  every  age,  an  universal  pestilence  has  hushed  the 
clamor  of  contention,  and  cooled  the  heats  of  parties ; 
but  the  greatness  of  our  national  calamity  seemed  only 
to  enkindle  the  fury  of  political  parties.  Contentions 
never  ran  with  such  deep  streams  and  impetuous  cur- 
rents, as  amidst  the  ruin  of  our  industry  and  prosperity. 
States  were  greater  debtors  to  foreign  nations,  than 
their  citizens  were  to  each  other.  Both  states  and  citi- 
zens shrunk  back  from  their  debts,  and  yet  more  dis- 
honestly from  the  taxes  necessary  to  discharge  them. 
The  General  Government  did  not  escape,  but  lay  be- 
calmed, or  pursued  its  course,  like  a  ship,  at  every  furlong 
touching  the  rocks,  or  beating  against  the  sands.  The 
Capitol  trembled  with  the  first  waves  of  a  question 
which  is  yet  to  shake  the  whole  land.  New  questions 
of  exciting  qualities  perplexed  the  realm  of  legislation, 
and  of  morals.  To  all  this  must  be  added  a  manifest 
decline  of  family  government ;  an  increase  of  the  ratio 
of  popular  ignorance  ;  a  decrease  of  reverence  for  law, 
and  an  effeminate  administration  of  it.  Popular  tumults 
have  been  as  frequent  as  freshets  in  our  rivers ;  and  like 


OF    PIS  HONES  XT.  35 

them,  have  swept  over  tlie  land  with  desolation  and 
left  their  filthy  slime  in  the  highest  places  :— upon  the 
press  ; — upon  the  legislature ; — in  the  halls  of  our 
courts ; — and  even  upon  the  sacred  bench  of  Justice. 
If  unsettled  times  foster  dishonesty,  it  should  have 
flourished  among  us.     And  it  has. 

Our  nation  must  expect  a  periodical  return  of  such 
convulsions ;  but  experience  should  steadily  curtail  their 
ravages,  and  remedy  their  immoral  tendencies.  Young 
men  have  before  them  lessons  of  manifold  wisdom  taught 
by  the  severest  of  masters — experience.  They  should 
be  studied ;  and  that  they  may  be,  I  shall,  from  this  gen- 
eral survey,  turn  to  a  specific  enumeration  of  the  causes 
of  dishonesty. 

1.  Some  men  find  in  their  bosom  from  the  first,  a 
vehement  inclination  to  dishonest  ways.  Knavish  pro- 
pensities are  inherent:  born  with  the  child  and  trans- 
missible from  parent  to  son.  The  children  of  a  sturdy 
thief,  if  taken  from  him  at  birth  and  reared  by  honest 
men,  would,  doubtless,  have  to  contend  against  a  strongly 
dishonest  inclination.  Foundlings  and  orphans  under 
public  charitable  charge,  are  more  apt  to  become  vicious 
than  other  children.  They  are  usually  born  of  low  and 
vicious  parents,  and  inherit  their  parent's  propensities. 
Only  the  most  thorough  moral  training  can  overrule  this 
innate  depravity. 

2.  A  child  naturally  fair  minded,  may  become  dishon- 
est by  parental  example.  He  is  early  taught  to  be  sharp 
in  bargains,  and  vigilant  for  every  advantage.  Little  is 
said  about  honesty,  and  much  upon  shrewd  trafiic.  A 
dexterous  trick,  becomes  a  family  anecdote  ;  visiters  are 
regaled   with  the  boy's  precocious  keenness.     Hearing 


36  T  W  E  L  V  E    C  A  U  S  E  S 

the  praise  of  his  exploits,  he  studies  craft,  and  seeks  pa- 
rental admiration  by  adroit  knaveries.  He  is  taught,  for 
his  safety,  that  he  must  not  range  beyond  the  law :  that 
would  be  unprofitable.  He  calculates  his  morality  thus  : 
Legal  honesty  is  the  best  policy, — dishonesty,  then,  is  a  bad 
bargain — and  therefore  wrong — every  thing  is  wrong 
which  is  unthrifty.  Whatever  profit  breaks  no  legal  sta- 
tute— though  it  is  gained  by  falsehood,  by  unfairness,  by 
gloss  ;  through  dishonor,  unkindness,  and  an  unscrupu- 
lous conscience — he  considers  fair,  and  says  :  The  law 
allouis  it.  Men  may  spend  a  long  life  without  an  in- 
dictable action,  and  without  an  honest  one.  No  law 
can  reach  the  insidious  ways  of  subtle  craft.  The  law 
allows,  and  religion  forbids  men,  to  profit  by  others'  mis- 
fortunes, to  prowl  for  prey  among  the  ignorant,  to  over- 
reach the  simple,  to  suck  the  last  life-drops  from  the 
bleeding;  to  hover  over  men  as  a  vulture  over  herds, 
swooping  down  upon  the  weak,  the  straggling,  and  the 
weary.  The  infernal  craft  of  cunning  men,  turns  the 
law  itself  to  piracy,  and  works  outrageous  fraud  in  the 
hall  of  Courts,  by  the  decision  of  Judges,  and  under  the 
seal  of  Justice. 

3.  Dishonesty  is  learned  from  one's  employers.  The 
boy  of  honest  parents  and  honestly  bred,  goes  to  a  trade, 
or  a  store,  where  the  employer  practices  legal  frauds. 
The  plain  honesty  of  the  boy  excites  roars  of  laughter 
among  the  better  taught  clerks.  The  master  tells  them 
that  such  blundering  truthfulness  must  be  pitied ;  the 
boy  evidently  has  been  neglected,  and  is  not  to  be  ridi- 
culed for  what  he  could  not  help.  At  first,  it  verily 
pains  the  youth's  scruples,  and  tinges  his  face  to  frame 
a  deliberate  dishonesty,  finish,  and  polish  it.     His  tongue 


OF      DISHONESTY.  37 

stammers  at  a  lie  ;  but  the  example  ol'  a  rich  master, 
the  jeers  and  gibes  of  shopmates,  with  gradual  practice 
cure  all  this.  lie  becomes  adroit  in  fleecing  customers 
tor  his  masters  sake,  and  equally  dextrous  in  fleecing 
his  master  for  his  own  sake. 

4.  Extravagance  is  a  prolific  source  of  Dishonesty. 
Extravagance, — which  is  foolish  expense,  or  expense 
disproportionate  to  one's  means, — may  be  found  in  all 
grades  of  society  ;  but  it  is  chiefly  apparent  among  the 
rich,  those  aspiring  to  wealth,  and  those  wishing  to  be 
fhought  aflluent.  Many  a  young  man  cheats  his  busi- 
ness, by  transferring  his  means  to  theatres,  race-courses, 
expensive  parties,  and  to  the  nameless  and  numberless 
projects  of  pleasure.  The  enterprise  of  others  is 
baffled  by  the  extravagance  of  their  family  ;  for  few  men 
can  make  as  much  in  a  year  as  an  extravagant  woman 
can  carry  on  her  back  in  one  winter.  Some  are  ambi- 
tious of  fashionable  society,  and  will  gratify  their  vanity 
at  any  expense.  This  disproportion  between  means 
and  expense  soon  brings  on  a  crisis.  Tlie  victim  is 
straitened  for  money  ;  without  it  he  must  abandon  his 
rank ;  for  fashionable  society  remorselessly  rejects  all 
butterflies  which  have  lost  their  brilliant  colors.  Which 
shall  he  choose,  honesty  and  mortifying  exclusion,  or 
gaiety  purchased  by  dishonesty  ?  The  severity  of  this 
choice  sometimes  sobers  the  intoxicated  brain  ;  and 
a  young  man  shrinks  i'rom  the  gulf,  appalled  at  the  dark- 
ness of  dishonesty.  But  to  excessive  vanity,  high-life 
with  or  without  fraud,  is  Paradise  ;  and  any  other  life 
Purgatory.  Here  many  resort  to  dishonesty  without  a 
scruple.  It  is  at  this  point  that  public  sentiment  half  sus- 
4 


38  TWELVE      CAUSES 

tains  dishonesty.  It  scourges  the  thief  of  Necessity,  and 
pities  the  thief  of  Fashion. 

The  struggle  with  others  is  on  the  very  ground  of 
honor.  A  wife  led  from  aflluence  to  frigid  penury  and 
neglect ;  from  leisure  and  luxury  to  toil  and  want ;  daugh- 
ters, once  courted  as  rich,  to  be  disesteemed  when  poor 
— this  is  the  gloomy  prospect,  seen  through  a  magic  haze 
of  despondency.  Honor,  love  and  generosity,  strangely 
bewitched,  plead  for  dishonesty  as  the  only  alternative 
to  such  suffering.  But  go,  young  man,  to  your  wife  ;  tell 
her  the  alternative  ;  if  she  is  worthy  of  you,  she  will 
face  your  poverty  with  u  courage  which  shall  shame 
your  fears,  and  lead  you  into  its  wilderness  and  through 
it,  all  unshrinking.  Many  there  be  who  went  weeping 
into  this  desert,  and  ere  long,  having  found  in  it  the 
fountains  of  the  purest  peace,  have  thanked  God  for  the 
pleasures  of  poverty.  But  if  your  wife  unmans  your 
resolution,  nnploring  dishonor  rather  than  penury,  may 
God  pity  and  help  you  !  You  dwell  with  a  sorceress, 
and  few  can  resist  her  wiles. 

5.  Debt  is  an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  Dishonesty. 
The  Royal  Preacher  tells  us  :  The  borrower  is  servant 
to  the  lender.  Debt  is  a  rigorous  servitude.  The 
debtor  learns  the  cunning  tricks,  delays,  concealments, 
and  frauds,  by  which  slaves  evade  or  cheat  their  master. 
He  is  tempted  to  make  ambiguous  statements  ;  pledges', 
with  secrei,  passages  of  escape ;  contracts,  with  fraudu- 
lent constructions  ;  lying  excuses,  and  more  mendacious 
promises.  He  is  tempted  to  elude  responsibility;  to 
delay  settlements ;  to  prevaricate  upon  the  terms  ;  to 
resist  equity,  and  devise  specious  fraud.  When  the 
the  eager  creditor  would  restrain  such  vagrancy  by  law. 


OF      DISHONESTT.  39 

the  debtor  then  thinks  himself  released  from  moral  obliga- 
tion, and  brought  to  a  legal  game,  in  which  it  is  lawful  for 
the  best  player  to  win.  He  disputes  true  accounts  ;  he 
studies  subterfuges ;  extorts  provocations  delays ;  and 
harbors  in  every  nook,  and  corner,  and  passage  of  the 
law's  labyrinth.  At  length  the  measure  is  filled  up,  and 
the  malignant  power  of  debt  is  known.  It  has  opened 
in  the  heart  every  fountain  of  iniquity ;  it  lias  besoiled 
the  conscience  ;  it  has  tarnished  the  honor ;  it  has  made 
the  man  a  deliberate  student  of  knavery;  a  systematic 
practitioner  of  fraud :  it  has  dragged  him  through  all  the 
sewers  of  petty  passions, — anger,  hate,  revenge,  mali- 
cious folly,  or  malignant  shame.  When  a  debtor  is 
beaten  at  every  point,  and  the  law  will  put  her  screws 
upon  him,  there  is  no  depth  in  the  gulf  of  dishonesty 
into  which  he  will  not  boldly  plunge.  Some  men  put 
their  property  to  the  flames,  assassinate  the  detested 
creditor,  and  end  the  frantic  tragedy  by  suicide,  or  the 
gallows.  Others,  in  view  of  the  catastrophe,  have  con- 
verted all  property  to  cash,  and  concealed  it.  The 
law's  utmost  skill,  and  the  creditor's  fury,  are  alike  pow- 
erless now — the  tree  is  green  and  thrifty ;  its  roots 
drawing  a  copious  supply  from  some  hidden  fountain. 

Craft  lias  another  harbor  of  resort  for  the  piratical 
crew  of  dishonesty ;  viz.  putting  property  out  of  the 
law's  reach  hij  a  fraudulent  conveyance.  Whoever  runs 
in  debt,  and  consumes  the  equivalent  of  his  indebted- 
ness ;  whoever  is  fairh'  liable  to  damage  for  broken  con- 
tracts;  whoever  by  folly,  has  incurred  debts  and  lost 
the  benefit  of  his  outlay  ;  whoever  is  legally  obliged 
to  pay  for  his  malice  or  carelessness ;  whoever  by 
infidelity  to  public  trusts,  has  made  his  property  a  just 


40  T  \\'  E  L  V  E      C  A  U  S  E  S 

remuneration  for  his  defaults ;  whoever  of  all  tiiese, 
or  whoever,  under  any  circumstances,  puts  out  of  his 
Iiands  property,  morally  or  legally  due  to  creditors,  is 
A  DISHONEST  5IAN.  The  crazy  excuses  which  men  ren- 
der to  their  consciences,  are  only  such  as  every  villain 
makes,  who  is  unwilling  to  look  upon  the  black  face  of 
his  crimes. 

He  who'will  receive  a  conveyance  of  property,  know- 
ing it  to  be  illusive  and  fraudulent,  is  as  wicked  as  the 
principal  ;  and  as  much  meaner,  as  the  tool  and  subordi- 
nate of  villany,  is  meaner  than  the  master  who  uses  him. 

If  a  church,  knowing  all  these  facts,  or  willfully  igno- 
rant of  them,  allows  a  member  to  nestle  in  the  security 
of  the  sanctuary  ;  then  the  act  of  this  robber,  and  the 
connivance  of  the  church,  are  but  the  two  parts  of  one 
crime. 

0.  Bankruptcy,  although  a  branch  of  debt,  deserves  a 
separate  mention.  It  sometimes  crushes  a  man's  spirit, 
and  sometimes  exasperates  it.  The  poignancy  of  the 
evil  depends  much  upon  the  disposition  of  the  creditors  ; 
and  as  much  upon  the  disposition  of  the  victim.  Should 
they  act  with  the  lenity  of  christian  men,  and  he  with 
manly  honesty,  promptly  rendering  up  whatever  sat- 
isfaction of  debt  he  has, — he  may  visit  the  lowest  places 
of  human  adversity,  and  find  there  the  light  of  good 
men's  esteem,  the  support  of  conscience,  and  the  suste- 
nance of  religion.  The  soils  which  yield  gold  are  rocky 
and  barren  of  all  else,  and  those  rich  in  flowers  and 
fruit,  yield  no  ore  ; — and  the  heart  which  has  only  gold, 
is  barren  indeed ;  but  that  poverty  is  not  poor,  in  which 
every  affection  more  sweetly  blossoms  and  matures  the 
richest  fruits  of  love. 


OF      DISHONESTY.  41 

A  bankrupt  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  men  whose 
tender  mercies  are  cruel ;  or  his  dishonest  equivocations 
may  exasperate  their  temper  and  provoke  every  thorn 
and  brier  of  the  law.  When  men's  passions  are  let 
loose,  especially  their  avarice,  whetted  by  real  or  im- 
aginary wrong  ;  when  there  is  a  rivalry  among  credi- 
tors, lest  any  one  should  feast  upon  the  victim  more 
than  his  share  ;  and  they  all  rush  upon  him  like  wolves 
upon  a  wounded  deer,  dragging  him  down,  ripping  him 
open,  breast  and  flank,  plunging  deep  their  bloody  muz- 
zles to  reach  the  heart  and  taste  blood  at  the  very 
fountain  ; — is  it  strange  that  resistance  is  desperate  and 
unscrupulous  ?  At  length  the  sufferer  drags  his  muti- 
lated carcass  aside,  every  nerve  and  muscle  wrung  with 
pain,  and  his  whole  body  an  instrument  of  agony.  He 
curses  the  whole  human  crew  with  envenomed  impreca- 
tions ;  and  thenceforth,  a  brooding  misanthrope,  he  pays 
back  to  society,  by  studied  villanies,  the  legal  wrongs 
which  the  relentless  justice  of  a  few,  or  his  own  kna- 
very, have  brought  upon  him. 

7.  There  is  a  circle  of  moral  dishonesties  practiced 
because  the  law  allows  them.  The  very  anxiety  of  law 
to  reach  the  devices  of  cunning,  so  perplexes  its  stat- 
utes with  exceptions,  limitations,  and  supplements,  that 
like  a  castle  gradually  enlarged  for  centuries,  it  has  its 
crevices,  dark  corners,  secret  holes  and  winding  passa- 
ges— an  endless  harbor  for  rats  and  vermin,  where  no 
trap  can  catch  them.  We  are  villanously  infested  with 
legal  rats  and  rascals,  who  are  able  to  commit  the  most 
flagrant  dishonesties  with  impunity.  They  can  do  all 
of  wrong  which  is  profitable,  without  that  part  which  is 
actionable.  The  very  ingenuity  of  these  miscreants 
4"^ 


42  TWELVE     CAUSES 

excites  such  admiration  of  their  skill,  that  their  life  is 
gilded  with  a  specious  respectability.  Men  profess  lit- 
tle esteem  for  blunt,  necessitous  thieves,  who  rob  and 
run  away ;  but  for  a  gentleman  who  can  break  the 
whole  of  God's  law  so  adroitly,  as  to  leave  man's  law 
unbroken  ;  who  can  indulge  in  such  conservative  steal- 
ing that  his  fellow  men  award  him  a  rank  among  honest 
men  for  the  excessive  skill  of  his  dishonesty — for  such 
an  one,  I  fear,  there  is  almost  universal  sympathy. 

8.  Political  Dishonesty,  breeds  dishonesty  of  every 
kind.  It  is  possible  for  good  men  to  permit  single  sins  to 
co-exist  with  general  integrity,  where  the  evil  is  indulg- 
ed through  ignorance.  Once,  undoubted  christians 
were  slave-traders.  They  might  be,  while  unenlight- 
ened 5  but  not  in  our  times.-  A  state  of  mind  which 
will  intend  one  fraud,  will  upon  occasion,  intend  a  thou- 
sand. He  that  will  lie  upon  one  emergency,  will  be 
supplied  with  emergencies.  He  that  will  perjure  him- 
self to  save  a  friend,  will  do  it,  in  a  desperate  juncture, 
to  save  himself.  The  highest  Wisdom  has  informed  us 
that  He  that  is  unjust  in  the  least,  is  unjust  also  in  much. 
Circumstances  may  withdraw  a  politician  from  tempta- 
tion to  any  but  political  dishonesty  ;  but  under  tempta- 
tion, a  dishonest  politician  would  be  a  dishonest  cashier, 
— would  be  dishonest  any  where, — in  any  thing.  The 
fire  which  burns  on  tiie  hearth,  would  consume  the 
dwelling  if  permitted.  The  fury  which  destroys  an 
opponent's  character,  would  stop  at  nothing,  if  barriers 
were  thrown  down.  That  which  is  true  of  the  leaders 
in  politics,  is  true  of  subordinates.  Political  dishonesty 
in  voters  runs  into  general  dishonesty,  as  the  rotten 
speck    taints    the    whole    apple.     A    community    whose 


OF      DISHONESTY.  43 

politics  are  conducted  by  a  perpetual  breach  of  honesty 
on  both  sides,  will  be  tainted  by  immorality  throughout. 
Men  will  play  the  same  game  in  their  private  affairs, 
which  they  have  learned  to  play  in  public  matters. 
The  guile,  the  crafty  vigilance,  the  dishonest  advantage, 
the  cunning  sharpness ; — the  tricks  and  traps  and  sly 
evasions  ;  the  equivocal  promises,  and  unequivocal  neg- 
lect of  them,  which  characterise  political  action,  will 
equally  characterise  private  action.  The  mind  has  no 
kitchen  to  do  its  dirty  work  in,  while  the  parlor  remains 
clean.  Dishonesty  is  an  atmosphere  ;  if  it  comes  into 
one  apartment,  it  penetrates  into  every  one.  Who- 
ever will  lie  in  politics,  will  lie  in  traffic.  Whoever  will 
slander  in  politics,  will  slander  in  personal  squabbles. 
A  professor  of  religion  who  is  a  dishonest  politician,  is 
a  dishonest  christian.  His  creed  is  a  perpetual  index  of 
his  hypocrisy. 

The  genius  of  our  government  directs  the  attention 
of  every  citizen  to  politics.  Its  spirit  reaches  the  outer- 
most bound  of  society,  and  pervades  the  whole  mass. 
If  its  channels  are  slimy  with  corruption,  what  limit 
can  be  set  to  its  malign  influence  ?  The  turbulence  of 
elections,  the  virulence  of  the  press,  the  desperation  of 
bad  men,  the  hopelessness  of  efforts  which  are  not  cun- 
ning, but  only  honest,  have  driven  many  conscientious 
men  from  any  concern  with  politics.  This  is  suicidal. 
Thus  the  tempest  will  grow  blacker  and  fiercer.  Our 
youth  will  be  caught  up  in  its  whirling  bosom  and  dashed 
to  pieces,  and  its  hail  will  break  down  every  green  thing. 
At  God's  house  the  cure  should  begin.  Let  the  hand  of 
discipline  smite  the  leprous  lips  which  shall  utter  the 
profane  heresy  :   All  is  fair  in  politics.     If  any  hoary 


44  T  W  E  L  V  E      C  A  U  S  E  S 

professor,  drunk  with  tlie  mingled  wine  of  excitement, 
shall  tell  our  youth,  that  a  christian  man  may  act  in 
politics  by  any  other  rule  of  morality  than  that  of  the 
Bible  ;  and  that  wickedness  performed  for  a  party,  is  not 
as  abominable,  as  if  done  for  a  man  ;  or  that  any  ne- 
cessity justifies  or  palliates  dishonesty  in  word  or  deed 
— let  such  an  one  go  out  of  the  camp,  and  his  pestilent 
breath  no  longer  spread  contagion  among  our  youth. 
No  man  who  loves  his  country,  should  shrink  from  her 
side  when  she  groans  with  raging  distempers.  Let 
every  christian  man  stand  in  his  place ;  rebuke  every 
dishonest  practice  ;  scorn  a  political  as  well  as  a  perso- 
nal lie  ;  and  refuse  with  indignation  to  be  insulted  by  the 
solicitation  of  an  immoral  man.  Let  good  men  of  all 
parties  require  honesty,  integrity,  veracity,  and  morality 
in  politics,  and  there,  as  powerfully  as  any  where  else, 
the  requisitions  of  public  sentiuient  will  ultimately  be 
felt. 

9.  A  corrupt  public  sentiment  produces  Dishonesty. 
A  public  sentiment,  in  which  dishonesty  is  not  disgrace- 
ful ;  in  which  bad  men  are  respectable,  are  trusted,  are 
honored,  are  exalted — is  a  curse  to  the  young.  The 
fever  of  speculation,  the  universal  derangement  of  busi- 
ness, the  growing  laxness  of  morals,  is,  to  an  alarming 
extent,  introducing  such  a  state  of  things.  Men  of  noto- 
rious immorality,  whose  dishonesty  is  flagrant,  whose 
private  habits  w'ould  disgrace  the  ditch,  are  powerful 
and  popular.  I  have  seen  a  man  stained  with  every 
sin,  except  those  which  required  courage ;  into  whose 
head  I  do  not  think  a  pure  thought  has  entered  for  forty 
years;  in  whose  heart  an  honorable  feeling  would  find 
itself  alone  in  a  desert; — in  evil  he  was  ripe  and  rotten  ; 


OF      DISHONESTY.  45 

hoary  and  depraved  in  deed,  in  word,  in  his  present  Hte 
and  in  all  his  past ;  evil  when  by  himself,  and  viler 
among  men  ;  corrupting  to  the  young ; — to  domestic 
fidelity,  a  recreant ;  to  common  honor,  a  traitor ;  to 
honesty,  an  outlaw ;  to  religion,  a  hypocrite  ;  to  mod- 
esty, a  beast ; — base  in  all  that  is  worthy  of  man,  and 
accomplished  in  whatever  is  disgraceful ;  and  yet  this 
wretch  could  go  where  he  would ;  enter  good  men's 
dwellings,  and  purloin  their  votes.  Men  would  curse 
him,  yet  obey  him  ;  hate  him,  and  assist  him  ;  warn 
their  sons  against  him,  and  lead  them  to  the  polls  for 
him.  A  public  sentiment  which  produces  ignominious 
knaves,  cannot  breed  honest  men. 

Any  calamity,  civil  or  commercial,  which  checks 
tlie  administration  of  justice  between  man  and  man,  is 
ruinous  to  honesty.  The  violent  fluctuations  of  busi- 
ness cover  the  ground  with  rubbish  over  which  men 
stumble  ;  and  fill  the  air  with  dust,  in  which  all  the  shapes 
of  honesty  appear  distorted.  Men  are  thrown  upon 
unusual  expedients  ;  dishonesties  are  unobserved ;  those 
who  have  been  reckless  and  profuse,  stave  off  the  legiti- 
mate fruits  of  their  folly  by  desperate  shifts.  Society 
resembles  a  city  sacked  by  an  army,  in  which  each  man 
seizes  what  opportunity  allows,  and  carries  off  what  his 
strength  will  permit.  We  have  not  yet  emerged  from 
a  period,  in  which  debts  were  insecure ;  the  debtor 
legally  protected  against  the  rights  of  the  creditor;  taxes 
laid,  not  by  the  requirements  of  justice,  but  for  political 
effect ;  and  lowered  to  a  dishonest  insufficiency  ;  and 
when  thus  diminished,  not  collected  5  the  citizens  resist- 
ing their  own  officers  ;  officers  resigning  at  the  bidding  of 
the  electors  5  the  laws  of  property  paralyzed  ;  bankrupt 


46  TWELVE      CAUSES 

laws  built  up ;  and  stay-laws  unconstitutionally  enacted, 
upon  which  the  courts  look  with  aversion,  yet  fear  to 
deny  them,  lest  the  wildness  of  popular  opinion  should 
roll  back  disdainfully  upon  the  bench,  to  dispoil  its  dig- 
nity, and  prostrate  its  power.  General  suffering  has 
made  us  tolerant  of  general  dishonesty  ;  and  the  gloom 
of  our  commercial  disasters  threatens  to  become  the  pall 
of  our  morals. 

If  the  shocking  stupidity  of  the  public  mind  to  atro- 
cious dishonesties  is  not  aroused  ;  if  good  men  do 
not  bestir  themselves  to  drag  the  young  from  this  foul 
sorcery  ;  if  the  relaxed  bands  of  honesty  are  not  tight- 
ened, and  conscience  intoned  to  a  severer  morality,  our 
night  is  at  hand, — our  midnight  not  far  off.  Wo  !  to 
that  guilty  people  who  sit  down  upon  broken  laws,  and 
wealth  saved  by  injustice  !  Wo  !  to  a  generation  fed 
upon  the  bread  of  fraud,  whose  children's  inheritance 
shall  be  a  perpetual  memento  of  their  fathers'  unright- 
eousness ;  to  whom  dishonesty  shall  be  made  pleasant 
by  association  W'ith  the  revered  memories  of  father, 
brother,  and  friend  ! 

But  when  a  whole  people  united  by  a  common  disre- 
gard of  justice,  conspire  to  defraud  public  creditors  ; 
and  States  vie  with  Slates  in  an  infamous  repudiation  of 
just  debts,  by  open  or  sinister  methods  ;  and  Nations 
exert  their  sovereignty  to  protect  and  dignify  the  kna- 
very of  a  Commonwealth  ;  then  the  confusion  of  do- 
mestic affairs  has  bred  a  fiend,  before  whose  flight  honor 
fades  away,  and  under  whose  feet  the  sanctity  of  truth 
and  the  religion  of  solemn  compacts,  are  stamped  down 
and  ground  into  the  dirt.  Need  we  ask  the  causes  of 
growing  dishonesty  among  the  young,  and  the  increas- 


O  F      D  I  S  H  O  N  E  .S  T  Y  .  47 

ing  untrustworthiness  of  all  agents,  when  States  are  seen 
clothed  with  the  panoply  of  dishonesty,  and  Nations  put 
on  fraud  for  their  garments  ? 

Absconding  agents,  swindling  schemes,  and  defalca- 
tions, occurring  in  such  melancholy  abundance,  have  at 
length  ceased  to  be  wonders,  and  rank  with  the  common 
accidents  of  fire  and  flood.  The  budget  of  each  week 
is  incomplete  without  its  mob  and  run-away  cashier — 
its  duel  and  defaulter ;  and  as  waves  which  roll  to  the 
shore  are  lost  in  those  which  follow  on,  so  the  villanies 
of  each  week,  obliterate  the  record  of  the  last. 

This  mania  of  dishonesty  cannot  arise  from  local 
causes  ;  it  is  the  result  of  disease  in  the  whole  commu- 
nity :  an  eruption  betokening  foulness  of  the  blood  ; 
blotches  symptomatic  of  a  disordered  system. 

10.  Financial  agents  are  especially  liable  to  the  temp- 
tations of  Dishonesty.  Safe  merchants,  and  visionary 
schemers  ;  sagacious  adventurers,  and  rash  speculators  ; 
frugal  beginners,  and  retired  millionaires,  are  constantly 
around  them.  Every  word,  every  act,  every  entry, 
every  letter,  suggests  only  wealth — its  germ,  its  bud, 
its  blossom,  its  golden  harvest.  Its  brilliance  dazzles  the 
sight ;  its  seductions  stir  the  appetites ;  its  power  fires 
the  ambition,  and  the  soul  concentrates  its  energies  to 
obtain  wealth,  as  life's  highest  and  only  joy. 

Beside  the  influence  of  such  associations,  direct  deal- 
ing in  money  as  a  commodity,  has  a  peculiar  efl^ect  upon 
the  heart.  There  is  no  property  between  it  and  the 
n\ind  ; — no  medium  to  mellow  its  light.  The  mind  is 
diverted  and  refreshed  by  no  thoughts  upon  the  quality 
of  soils  ;  the  durability  of  structures  ;  the  advantages  of 
sites  ;  the   beauty  of  fabrics  ;    it  is  not  invigorated   by 


48  T  ^V  E  L  V  E      C  A  U  S  E  S 

the  necessity  of  labor  and  ingenuity  which  the  mechanic 
feels  ;  by  the  invention  of  the  artizan,  or  the  taste  of  the 
artist.  The  whole  attention  falls  directly  upon  naked 
Money.  The  hourly  sight  of  it  whets  the  appetite,  and 
sharpens  it  to  avarice.  Thus,  with  an  intense  regard  of 
riches,  steals  in  also  the  miser's  relish  of  coin — that  insa- 
tiate gazing  and  fondling,  by  which  seductive  metal 
wins  to  itself  all  the  blandishments  of  love. 

Those  who  mean  to  be  rich,  often  begin  by  imitating 
the  expensive  courses  of  those  who  are  rich.  They  are 
also  tempted  to  venture,  before  they  have  means  of  their 
own,  in  brilliant  speculations,  which  open  as  blandly  as 
spring — with  as  many  germs,  and  the  promise  of  a 
prodigal  harvest.  ITow  can  a  young  cashier  pay  the 
drafts  of  his  illicit  pleasures,  or  procure  the  seed,  for  the 
harvest  of  speculation,  out  of  his  narrow  salary  ?  Here 
first  begins  to  work  the  leaven  of  death.  The  mind 
wanders  in  dreams  of  gain  ;  it  broods  over  projects  of 
unlawful  riches ;  stealthily  at  first,  and  then  with  less 
reserve  ;  at  last  it  boldly  meditates  the  possibility  of 
being  dishonest  and  safe.  When  a  man  can  seriously 
reflect  upon  dishonesty  as  a  possible  and  profitable 
thing,  he  is  already  deeply  dishonest.  To  a  mind  so 
tainted,  (as  vultures  to  a  carcass)  flock  stories  of  con- 
summate craft,  of  effective  knavery,  of  fraud  covered 
by  its  brilliant  success.  At  times,  the  mind  shrinks  from 
its  own  thoughts,  and  trembles  to  look  down  the  giddy 
cliff  on  whose  edge  they  poise,  or  over  which  they  fling 
themselves  like  sporting  sea-birds.  But  these  imagina- 
tions will  not  be  driven  from  the  heart  where  they  have 
once  nested.  They  haunt  a  man's  business,  visit  him  in 
dreams,  and  vampire-like,  fan  the  slumbers  of  the  victim 


OF     DISHONESTY.  49 

whom  they  will  destroy.  In  some  teverish  hour,  vibra- 
ting between  conscience  and  avarice,  the  man  staggers  to 
a  compromise.  To  satisfy  his  conscience  he  refuses  to 
steal  ;  and  to  gratify  his  avarice,  he  borrows  the  funds  ; — 
not  openly — not  of  owners — not  of  men  ;  but  of  the 
till — the  safe — the  vault ! 

He  resolves  to  restore  the  money  before  discovery  can 
ensue,  and  pocket  the  profits.  Meanwhile,  false  entries 
are  made,  perjured  oaths  are  sworn,  forged  papers  are 
filed.  His  expenses  grow  profuse,  and  men  wonder 
from  what  fountain  so  copious  a  stream  can  flow. 

Let  us  stop  here  to  survey  his  condition.  He  flour- 
ishes, is  called  prosperous,  thinks  himself  safe.  Is  he  safe, 
or  honest  ?  He  has  stolen,  and  embarked  the  amount 
upon  a  sea  over  which  wander  perpetual  storms  ;  where 
wreck  is  the  common  fate,  and  escape  the  accident  ; 
and  now  all  his  chance  for  the  semblance  of  honesty, 
is  staked  upon  the  return  of  his  embezzlements  from 
among  the  sands,  the  rocks,  and  currents,  the  winds 
and  waves,  and  darkness,  of  tumultuous  speculation.  At 
length  dawns  the  day  of  discovery.  His  guilty  dreams 
have  long  betokened  it.  As  he  confronts  the  disgrace 
almost  face  to  face,  how  changed  is  the  hideous  aspect 
of  his  deed,  from  that  fair  face  of  promise  with  which  it 
tempted  him  !  Conscience,  and  honor,  and  plain  hon- 
esty, which  left  him  when  they  could  not  restrain,  now 
come  back  to  sharpen  his  anguish.  Overawed  by  the 
prospect  of  open  shame,  of  his  wife's  disgrace,  and  his 
children's  beggary,  he  cows  down,  and  slinks  out  of 
life  a  frantic  suicide. 

Some  there  be,  however,  less  supple  to  shame.  They 
meet  their  fate  with  cool  impudence ;  defy  their  em- 
5 


50  T  W  E  L  V  K     C  A  U  S  E  S 

ployers ;  brave  the  court,  and  too  often  with  success. 
The  delusion  of  the  public  mind,  or  the  confusion  of 
aflairs  is  such,  that,  while  petty  culprits  are  tumbled 
into  prison,  a  cool,  calculating,  and  immense  scoundrel 
is  pitied,  dandled  and  nursed  by  a  sympathizing  commu^ 
nity.  In  the  broad  road  slanting  to  the  rogue's  retreat, 
are  seen  the  officer  of  the  bank,  the  agent  of  the  state, 
the  officer  of  the  church,  in  indiscriminate  haste,  out- 
running a  lazy  justice,  and  bearing  off  the  gains  of  as- 
tounding frauds.  Meanwhile,  the  victim  of  these  villa- 
nies,  the  good-natured  public,  as  if  bled  to  weakness, 
feebly  asks  with  complacent  smiles:  "How  speeds  the 
race?"  Avarice  and  pleasure  seem  to  have  dissolved 
the  conscience.  It  is  a  day  of  trouble  and  of  perplexity 
from  the  Lord.  We  tremble  to  think  that  our  children 
must  leave  the  covert  of  the  family,  and  go  out  upon 
that  dark  and  yesty  sea,  from  whose  wrath  so  many 
wrecks  are  cast  up  at  our  feet.  Of  one  thing  I  am  cer- 
tain ;  if  the  church  of  Christ  is  silent  to  such  deeds,  and 
makes  her  altar  a  refuge  to  such  dishonesty,  the  day  is 
coming  when  she  shall  have  no  altar,  the  light  shall  go 
out  from  her  candle-stick,  her  walls  shall  be  desolate, 
and  the  fox  look  out  at  her  windows. 

11.  Executive  clemency,  by  its  frequency,  has  been  a 
temptation  to  Dishonesty.  Who  will  fear  to  be  a  cul- 
prit when  a  legal  sentence  is  the  argument  of  pity,  and 
the  prelude  of  pardon  ?  What  can  the  community  ex- 
pect but  growing  dishonesty,  when  juries  connive  at  ac- 
quittals, and  judges  condemn  only  to  petition  a  pardon  ; 
when  honest  men  and  officers  fly  before  a  mob ;  when 
jails  are  besieged  and  threatened,  if  felons  are  not  relin- 
quished ;    when   the   Executive,   consulting  the  spirit  of 


OF     DISHONESTY 


the  community,  receives  the  demands  of  the  mob,  and 
humbly  complies,  throwing  down  the  fences  of  the  law, 
that  base  rioters  may  walk  unimpeded  to  their  work  of 
vengeance,  or  unjust  mercy?  A  sickly  sentimentality  too 
often  enervates  the  administration  of  justice  ;  and  the 
pardoning  power  becomes  the  master-key  to  let  out 
unwashed,  unrepentant  criminals.  They  have  fleeced 
us,  robbed  us,  and  are  ulcerous  sores  to  the  body  politic  ; 
yet  our  heart  turns  to  water  over  their  merited  punish- 
ment. A  fine  young  fellow,  by  accident,  writes  another's 
name  for  his  own  ;  by  a  mistake  equally  unfortunate,  he 
presents  it  at  the  bank  ;  innocendy  draws  out  the  large 
amount ;  generously  spends  a  part,  and  absent-mindedly 
hides  the  rest.  Hard-hearted  wretches  there  are,  who 
would  punish  him  for  this  !  Young  men,  admiring  the 
neatness  of  the  affair,  pity  his  misfortune,  and  curse  a 
stupid  jury  that  knew  no  better  than  to  send  to  a  peni- 
tentiary, him,  whose  skill  deserved  a  cashier-ship.  He 
goes  to  his  cell,  the  pity  of  a  whole  metropolis.  Bulle- 
tins from  Sing-Sing  inform  us  daily  what  Edwards  is 
doing,  as  if  he  were  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena.  At  length 
pardoned,  he  will  go  forth  again  to  a  renowned  liberty  ! 

If  there  be  one  way  quicker  than  another,  by  which 
the  Executive  shall  assist  crime,  and  our  laws  foster  it, 
it  is  that  course  which  assures  every  dishonest  man,  that 
it  is  easy  to  defraud,  easy  to  avoid  arrest,  easy  to  escape 
punishment,  and  easiest  of  all  to  obtain  a  pardon. 

12.  CoMMKRciAL  SPECULATIONS  are  prolific  of  Dishonesty. 
Speculation  is  the  risking  of  capital  in  enterprises  greater 
than  we  can  control,  or  in  enterprises  whose  elements 
are  not  at  all  calculable.  All  calculations  of  the 
future  are  uncertain  ;  but   those  w^hich  are  based  upon 


52  TWELVE      CAUSES 

long  experience  approximate  certainly,  while  those  which 
are  drawn  by  sagacity  from  probable  events,  are  noto- 
riously unsafe.  Unless,  however,  some  venture,  we 
shall  forever  tread  an  old  and  dull  path  ;  therefore  en- 
terprise is  allowed  to  pioneer  new  ways.  The  safe  en- 
terpriser explores  cautiously,  ventures  at  first  a  little, 
and  increases  the  venture  with  the  ratio  of  experience. 
A  speculator  looks  out  upon  the  new  region,  as  upon  a 
far-away  land-scape,  whose  features  are  softened  to 
beauty  by  distance  ;  upon  a  hope.,  he  stakes  that,  which, 
if  it  wins,  will  make  him  ;  and  if  it  loses,  will  ruin  him. 
When  the  alternatives  are  victory,  or  utter  destruction,  a 
battle  may,  sometimes,  still  be  necessary.  But  com- 
merce has  no  such  alternatives ;  only  speculation  pro- 
ceeds upon  them. 

If  the  capital  is  borrowed,  it  is  as  dishonest,  upon  such 
ventures,  to  risk,  as  to  lose  it.  Should  a  man  borrow 
a  noble  steed  and  ride  among  incitements  which  he  knew 
would  rouse  up  his  fiery  spirit  to  an  uncontrolable  height, 
and,  borne  away  with  wild  speed,  be  plunged  over  a 
precipice,  his  destruction  might  excite  our  pity,  but 
could  not  alter  our  opinion  of  his  dishonesty.  He  bor- 
rowed property,  and  endangered  it  where  he  knew  that  it 
would  be  uncontrolable.  Sanguine  to  a  seeming  certain- 
ty, he  staked,  and  lost  anothers'  property,  upon  a  Hope. 

If  the  capital  be  one's  own,  it  can  scarcely  be  risked 
and  lost,  without  the  ruin  of  other  men.  No  man  could 
blow  up  his  store  in  a  compact  street,  and  destroy  only 
his  own.  Men  of  business  are,  like  threads  of  a  fabric, 
woven  together,  and  subject,  to  a  great  extent,  to  a  com- 
mon fate  of  prosperity  or  adversity.  I  have  no  right  to 
cut  ofT  my  hand  ;  I  defraud  myself,  my  family,  the   com- 


OF     DISiiONKSTY.  53 

inunity,  and  God ;  for  all  these  have  an  interest  in  that 
hand.  Neither  has  a  man  the  right  to  throw  away  his 
property.  He  defrauds  himself,  his  family,  the  commu- 
nity in  which  he  dwells ;  for  all  these  have  an  interest  in 
that  property.  If  waste  is  dishonesty,  then  every  risk, 
in  proportion  as  it  approaches  it,  is  dishonest.  It  would 
be  a  high  crime  for  a  General,  heedlessly,  to  hazard  his 
whole  army.  Money  is  soldiery, — its  owner  the  General ; 
his  forces  are  not  to  be  risked,  needlessly,  in  engage- 
ments beyond  his  control  or  calculation.  To  venture, 
without  that  foresight  which  experience  gives,  is  wrong  ; 
and  if  we  cannot  foresee,  then  we  must  not  venture. 

Scheming  speculation  demoralizes  honesty,  and  al- 
most necessitates  dishonesty.  He  who  puts  his  own 
interests  to  rash  ventures,  will  scarcely  do  better  for 
others.  The  Speculator  regards  the  weightiest  affairs  as 
only  a  splendid  game.  Indeed,  a  Speculator  on  the  ex- 
change, and  a  Gambler  at  his  table,  follow  one  vocation, 
only  with  different  instruments.  One  employs  cards  or 
dice,  the  other  property.  The  one  can  no  more  foresee 
the  result  of  his  schemes,  than  the  other  what  spots  will 
come  up  on  his  dice  ;  the  calculations  of  both  are  onlv 
the  chances  of  luck.  Both  burn  with  unhealthy  excite- 
ment ;  both  are  avaricious  of  gains,  but  careless  of  what 
they  win  ;  both  depend  more  upon  fortune  than  skill  ; 
they  have  a  common  distaste  for  labor  ;  with  each,  right 
and  wrong  are  only  the  accidents  of  a  game  ;  neither 
would  scruple  in  any  hour  to  set  his  whole  being  on  the 
edge  of  ruin,  and  going  over,  to  pull  down,  if  possible, 
a  hundred  others. 

The  wreck  of  such  men  leaves  them  with  a  drunk- 
ard's appetite,  and  a  fiend's  desperation.  The  revulsion 
5* 


54  TWELVE      CAUSES 

from  extravagant  hopes,  to  a  certainty  of  midnight  dark- 
ness ;  the  sensations  of  poverty,  to  him  who  was  in 
fancy  just  stepping  upon  a  princely  estate  ;  the  humilia- 
tion of  gleaning  for  cents,  wiiere  he  has  been  profuse  of 
thousands  ;  the  chagrin  of  seeing  old  competitors  now 
above  him,  grinning  down  upon  his  poverty  a  malig- 
nant triumph  ;  the  pity  of  pitiful  men,  and  the  neglect 
of  such  as  should  have  been  his  friends, — and  who  were, 
W'hile  the  sunshine  lay  upon  his  path — all  these  things, 
like  so  many  strong  winds,  sweep  across  the  soul  so  that 
it  cannot  rest  in  the  cheerless  trancjuility  of  honesty, 
but  casts  up  mire  a7id  dirt.  They  who  meant  to  soar 
above  all  men,  and  by  wide  flights  to  compass  imperial 
{)ossessions,  at  last,  bereft  of  wings,  and  unable  to  walk — 
crawl.  How  stately  the  balloon  rises  and  sails  over  con- 
tinents, as  over  petty  landscapes  !  The  slightest  slit  in 
its  frail  covering,  sends  it  tumbling  down,  swaying  wild- 
ly, whirling  and  pitching  hither  and  thither,  until  it 
plunges  into  some  dark  glen,  out  of  the  path  of  honest 
men,  and  too  shattered  to  tempt  even  a  robber.  So 
have  we  seen  a  thousand  men  pitched  down  ; — so  now, 
in  a  thousand  places  may  their  wrecks  be  seen.  But 
still  other  balloons  are  framing,  and  the  air  is  full  of  vic- 
tim-venturers. 

If  our  young  men  are  introduced  to  life  with  distaste 
for  safe  ways,  because  the  sure  profits  are  slow ;  if  the 
opinion  becomes  prevalent  that  all  business  is  great, 
only  as  it  tends  to  the  uncertain,  the  extravagant,  and 
the  romantic  ;  then  we  may  stay  our  hand  at  once,  nor 
waste  labor  in  absurd  expostulations  of  honesty.  I  had 
as  lief  preach  humanity  to  a  battle  of  eagles  ;  or  teach 
decency  to  vultures  upon  a  carcass  ;  or  cleanliness  to 


•OF      IMSHONESTY.  55 

liyenas  foul  with  human  corpses,  as  to  urge  Iionesty  and 
integrity  upon  those  who  have  detennined  to  be  rich,  and 
to  gain  it  by  gambling  stakes,  and  madmen's  ventures. 

All  the  bankruptcies  of  commerce  are  harmless  com- 
pared with  a  bankruptcy  of  public  morals.  Should  the 
Atlantic  ocean  break  over  our  shores,  and  roll  sheer 
across  lo  the  Pacific,  sweeping  every  vestige  of  culti- 
vation, and  burying  our  wealth,  it  would  be  a  mercy, 
compared  to  that  ocean-deluge  of  dishonesty  and  crime, 
which,  sweeping  over  the  whole  land,  has  spared  our 
wealth  and  taken  our  virtue.  What  are  cornfields  and 
vineyards,  what  are  stores  and  manufactures,  and  what 
are  gold  and  silver,  and  all  the  precious  commodities  of 
the  earth,  among  beasts  ? — and  what  are  men,  bereft  of 
conscience  and  honor,  but  beasts  ? 

We  will  forget  those  things  which  are  behind,  and 
hope  a  more  cheerful  future.  We  turn  to  you,  young 
MEN  ! — All  good  men,  all  patriots,  turn  to  watch  your 
advance  upon  the  stage,  and  to  implore  you  to  be  wor- 
thy of  yourselves,  and  of  your  revered  ancestry.  Oh  ! 
ye  favored  of  Heaven  !  with  a  free  land,  a  noble  inheri- 
tance of  wise  laws,  and  a  prodigality  of  w^ealth  in  pros- 
pect,— advance  to  your  possessions! — May  you  settle 
down,  as  did  Israel  of  old,  a  people  of  God  in  a  promised 
and  protected  land ; — true  to  yourselves,  true  to  your 
country,  and  true  to  your  God. 


LECTURE    III. 


The  generation  of  the  upright  shall  be  blessed,  wealth  and  riches  shall 

be  in  his  house.     Ps.  cxii,  2,  3. 
He  that  getteth  riches,  and  not  by  right,  shall  leave  them  in  the  midst 

of  his  days,  and  at  his  end  shall  be  a  fool.     Jer.  xvii.  11. 

When  justly  obtained,  and  rationally  used,  riches  are 
called  a  gift  of  God,  an  evidence  of  his  favor,  and  a  great 
reward.  When  gathered  unjustly,  and  corruptly  used, 
wealth  is  pronounced  a  canker,  a  rust,  a  fire,  a  curse. 
There  is  no  contradiction,  then,  when  the  Bible  per- 
suades to  industry,  obedience,  and  integrity,  by  a  pro- 
mise of  riches  ;  and  then  dissuades  from  wealth,  as  a 
terrible  thing,  destroying  soul  and  body.  The  bee  has 
honey  for  its  friends,  and  a  sting  for  its  enemies.  Bless- 
ings are  vindictive  to  abusers,  and  kind  to  rightful  users; 
— they  serve  us,  or  rule  us.  Fire  warms  our  dvi^elling, 
or  consumes  it.  Steam  serves  man,  and  also  destroys 
him.  Iron,  in  the  plough,  the  sickle,  the  house,  the  ship, 
is  indispensable.  The  dirk,  the  assassin's  knife,  the  cruel 
sword  and  the  spear,  are  iron  also. 

The  constitution  of  man,  and  of  society,  alike  evinces 
the  design  of  God.  Both  are  made  to  be  happier 
by    the    possession   of  riches  ; — their   full   development 


58  S  I  X       \\'  A  R  X  I  N  G  S  . 

and  perfection  are  dependent,  to  a  large  extent,  upon 
wealth.  Without  it,  there  can  be  neither  books  nor 
implements  ;  neither  commerce  nor  arts,  neither  towns 
nor  cities.  It  is  a  folly  to  denounce  that,  a  love 
of  which  God  has  placed  in  man  by  a  constitutional 
faculty  ;  that,  with  which  he  has  associated  high  grades 
of  happiness ;  that,  which  has  motives  touching  every 
faculty  of  the  mind.  Wealth  is  an  artist  :  by  its  patro- 
nage men  are  encouraged  to  paint,  to  carve,  to  design, 
to  build  and  adorn  ; — A  master-mechanic  :  and  inspires 
man  to  invent,  discover,  to  apply,  to  forge  and  fashion  : — 
A  husbandman  :  and  under  its  influence  men  rear  the 
flock,  till  the  earth,  plant  the  vineyard,  the  field,  the  orch- 
ard, and  the  garden  : — A  manufacturer  :  and  teache> 
men  to  card,  to  spin,  to  weave,  to  color  and  dress  all 
useful  fabrics : — A  merchant  :  and  sends  forth  ships,  and 
fills  ware-houses  with  their  returning  cargos,  gath- 
ered from  every  zone.  It  is  the  scholar's  patron  ;  sus- 
tains his  leisure,  rewards  his  labor,  builds  the  college, 
and  gathers  the  library. 

Is  a  man  weak  ? — he  can  buy  the  strong.  Is  he  igno- 
rant ? — the  learned  will  serve  his  wealth.  Is  he  rude  of 
speech? — he  may  procure  the  advocacy  of  the  eloquent. 
The  rich  cannot  buy  honor,  but  honorable  places  they 
can  ;  they  cannot  purchase  nobility,  but  they  may  its 
titles.  Money  cannot  buy  freshness  of  heart,  but  it  can 
every  luxury  which  tempts  to  enjoyment.  Laws  are  its 
body-guard,  and  no  earthly  power  may  safely  defy  it ; 
either  while  running  in  the  swift  channels  of  commerce, 
or  reposing  in  the  reservoirs  of  ancient  families.  Here 
is  a  wonderful  thing,  that  an  inert  metal,  which  neither 
thinks,  nor  feels,  nor  stirs,  can  set   the  whole    world 


SIX      WARNINGS.  59 

to  thinking,  planning,  running,  digging,  fashioning,  and 
drives  on  the  sweaty  mass  with  never-ending  labors  ! 

Avarice  seeks  gold,  not  to  build  or  buy  therewith  ; 
not  to  clothe  or  feed  itself;  not  to  make  it  an  instrument 
of  wisdom,  of  skill,  of  friendship,  or  religion.  Avarice 
seeks  it  to  heap  it  up  ;  to  walk  around  the  pile,  and  gloat 
upon  it  ;  to  fondle,  and  court,  to  kiss  and  hug  the  darling 
stuff"  to  the  end  of  life,  with  the  homage  of  beastly  idol- 
atry. 

Pride  seeks  it; — for  it  gives  power,  and  place,  and 
titles,  and  exalts  its  possessor  above  his  fellows.  To  be 
a  thread  in  the  fabric  of  life,  just  like  any  other  thread, 
hoisted  up  and  down  by  the  treddle,  played  across  by 
the  shuttle,  and  woven  tightly  into  the  piece, — this  may 
suit  humility,  but  not  pride. 

Vanity  seeks  it ; — what  else  can  give  it  costly  clothing, 
and  rare  ornaments,  and  stately  dwellings,  and  showy 
equipage,  and  attract  admiring  eyes  to  its  gaudy  colors 
and  costly  jewels  ? 

Taste  seeks  it ; — because  by  it,  may  be  had  whatever 
is  beautiful,  or  refining,  or  instructive.  What  leisure  has 
poverty  for  study,  and  how  can  it  collect  books,  manu- 
scripts, pictures,  statues,  coins,  or  curiosities  ? 

Love  seeks  it ; — to  build  a  home  full  of  delights  for 
lather,  wife  or  child  ;  and  wisest  of  all. 

Religion  seeks  it ; — to  make  it  the  messenger  and  ser- 
vant of  benevolence,  to  want,  to  suffering,  and  to  igno- 
rance. 

What  a  sight  does  the  busy  world  present,  as  of  a 
great  workshop,  where  hope  and  fear,  love  and  pride, 
and  lust,  and  pleasure,  and  avarice,  separate  or  in  part- 
nership, drive  on  the  universal  race  for  wealth  :  delving 


60  SIX      WARNINGS. 

in  the  mine,  digging  in  the  earth,  sweltering  at  the  forge, 
plying  the  shuttle,  ploughing  the  waters  ;  in  houses,  in 
shops,  in  stores,  on  the  mountain-side,  or  in  the  valley  : 
by  skill,  by  labor,  by  thought,  by  craft,  by  force,  by 
traffic ;  all  men,  in  all  places,  by  all  labors,  fair  and  un- 
fair, the  world  around,  busy,  busy  ;  ever  searching  for 
wealth,  that  wealth  may  supply  their  pleasures. 

As  every  taste  and  inclination  may  receive  its  grati- 
fication through  riches,  the  universal  and  often  fierce 
pursuit  of  it  arises,  not  from  the  single  impulse  of  ava- 
rice, but  from  the  impulse  of  the  whole  mind  ;  and  on 
this  very  account,  its  pursuit  should  be  more  exactly 
regulated.  The  ship  which  cannot  resist  the  gale,  must 
be  skillfully  steered  before  it.  The  helm  may  be  deserted 
in  a  calm,  but  never  in  a  storm.  Let  me  set  up  a  warn- 
ing over  against  the  special  dangers  which  lie  along  the 

ROAD  TO   RICHES. 

I.  I  warn  you  against  thinking  that  riches  necessa- 
rily confers  happiness ;  and  poverty,  unhappiness.  Do 
not  begin  life  supposing  that  you  shall  be  heart-rich, 
when  you  are  purse-rich.  A  man's  happiness  depends 
primarily  upon  his  disposition ;  if  that  be  good,  riches 
will  bring  pleasure  ;  but  only  vexation,  if  that  be  evil. 
To  lavish  money  upon  shining  trifles,  to  make  an  idol  of 
one's  self  for  fools  to  gaze  at,  to  rear  mansions  beyond 
our  w^ants,  to  garnish  them  for  display  and  not  for  use, 
to  grin  and  chatter  through  the  heartless  rounds  of  plea- 
sure, to  lounge,  to  gape,  to  simper  and  giggle : — can 
wealth  make  vanity  happy  by  such  folly  ?  If  wealth 
descends  upon  avarick,  does  it  confer  happiness  ?  It 
blights  the  heart,  as  autumnal  fires  ravage  the  prairies  ! 
The  eye  glows  with  greedy  cunning,  conscience  shrivels. 


SIXAVARNINGS.  61 

the  light  of  love  goes  out,  and  the  wretch  moves  amidst  his 
coin  no  better,  no  happier  than  a  loathsome  toad  hop- 
ping in  a  mine  of  gold.  A  dreary  fire  of  self-love  burns 
in  the  bosom  of  the  avaricious  rich,  as  a  hermit's  flame 
in  a  ruined  temple  of  the  desert.  The  fire  is  kindled  for 
no  deity,  and  is  odorous  with  no  incense,  but  only  warms 
the  shivering  anchorite. 

Wealth  will  do  little  for  lust,  but  to  hasten  its  cor- 
ruption. There  is  no  more  happiness  in  a  foul  heart, 
than  there  is  health  in  a  pestilent  morass.  Satisfaction 
is  not  made  out  of  such  stuff  as  fighting  carousals,  ob- 
scene revelry,  and  midnight  beastliness.  An  alligator, 
gorging  or  swoln  with  surfeit  and  basking  in  the  sun, 
has  the  same  happiness  which  riches  bring  to  the  human 
brute,  who  eats  to  gluttony,  drinks  to  drunkenness,  and 
sleeps  to  stupidity.  But  riches  indeed  bless  that  heart 
whose  almoner  is  benevolence.  If  the  taste  is  refined,  if 
the  affections  are  pure,  if  conscience  is  honest,  if  charity 
listens  to  the  needy,  and  generosity  relieves  them,  if 
the  public-spirited  hand  fosters  all  that  embellishes  and 
all  that  ennobles  society — then  is  the  rich  man  happy. 

On  the  other  hand,  do  not  suppose  that  poverty  is  a 
waste  and  howling  wilderness.  There  is  a  poverty  of 
vice — mean,  loathsome,  covered  with  all  the  sores  of 
depravity.  There  is  a  poverty  of  indolence — where 
virtues  sleep,  and  passions  fret  and  bicker.  There  is  a 
poverty  which  despondency  makes — a  deep  dungeon,  in 
which  the  victim  wears  hopeless  chains. — May  God  save 
you  from  that !  There  is  a  spiteful  and  venomous  pov- 
erty, in  which  mean  and  cankered  hearts,  repairing  none 
of  their  own  losses,  spit  at  others'  prosperity,  and  curse 
the  rich, — themselves  doubly  cursed  by  their  own  hearts. 
6 


(32  SIX      WARNINGS. 

But  there  is  a  contented  poverty  in  which  industry 
and  peace  rule  ;  and  a  joyful  hope,  which  looks  out  into 
another  world  where  riches  shall  neither  fly  nor  fade. 
This  poverty  may  possess  an  independent  mind,  a  heart 
ambitious  of  usefulness,  a  hand  quick  to  sow  the  seed 
of  other  men's  happiness,  and  find  its  own  joy  in 
their  enjoyment.  If  a  serene  age  finds  you  in  such 
])overty,  it  is  such  a  wilderness,  if  it  be  a  wilderness,  as 
that  invvhich  God  led  his  chosen  people,  and  on  which 
he  rained  every  day  a  heavenly  manna. 

If  God  open  to  your  feet  the  way  to  wealth,  enter 
it  cheerfully;  but  remember  that  riches  will  bless  or 
curse  you,  as  your  own  heart  determines.  But  if  cir- 
cumscribed by  necessity,  you  are  still  indigent,  after  all 
your  industry,  do  not  scorn  poverty.  There  is  often  in 
the  hut,  more  dignity  than  in  the  palace  ;  more  satisfac- 
tion in  the  poor  man's  scanty  fare,  than  in  the  rich  man's 
satiety. 

II.  Men  are  warned  in  the  Bible  against  making  haste 
TO  BE  RICH.  He  that  hasteth  to  be  rich  hath  an  evil  eye, 
and  considereth  not  that  poverty  shall  come  upon  him.^'' 
This  is  spoken,  not  of  the  alacrity  of  enterprise,  but  of 
the  precipitancy  of  avarice.  That  is  an  evil  eye  which 
leads  a  man  into  trouble  by  incorrect  vision.  When  a 
man  seeks  to  prosper  by  crafty  tricks  instead  of  careful 
industry  ;  when  a  man's  inordinate  covetousness  pushes 
him  across  all  lines  of  honesty  that  he  may  sooner  clutch 
the  prize  ;  when  gambling  speculation  would  reap  where 
it  had  not  strewn  ;  when  men  gain  riches  by  crimes — 
there  is  an  evil  eye,  which  guides  them  through  a  spe- 
cious prosperity,  to    inevitable    ruin.     So    dependent    is 

a  Prov.  xxviii.  22. 


S  I  X      AV  A  RNl  N  GS.  63 

success  upon  patient  Industry,  that  he  who  seeks  it 
otherwise,  tempts  his  own  ruin.  A  young  lawyer,  un- 
willing to  wait  fur  that  practice  which  rewards  a  good 
reputation,  or  unwilling  to  earn  that  reputation  by  se- 
vere application,  rushes  through  all  the  dirty  paths  of  chi- 
cane to  a  hasty  prosperity  ;  and  he  rushes  out  of  it,  by  the 
dirtier  paths  of  discovered  villany.  A  young  politician, 
scarcely  waiting  till  the  law  allows  his  majority,  sturdily 
begs  for  that  popularity  which  he  should  have  patiently 
earned.  In  the  ferocious  conflicts  of  political  life,  cun- 
ning, intrigue,  falsehood,  slander,  vituperative  violence,  at 
first  sustain  his  pretensions,  and  at  last  demolish  them. 
It  is  thus  in  all  the  ways  of  traffic,  in  all  the  arts,  and 
trades.  That  prosperity  which  grows  like  the  mush- 
room, is  as  poisonous  as  the  mushroom.  Few  men  are 
destroyed  ;  many  destroy  themselves.  He  whose  haste 
sends  him  a-cross-lots  for  riches,  takes  the  direct  road  to 
inflimy,  bankruptcy,  the  poor-house,  the  jail,  and  the 
gallows. 

When  God  sends  wealth  to  bless  men,  he  sends  it 
gradually  like  a  gentle  rain.  When  God  sends  riches 
to  punish,  men,  they  come  tumultuously,  like  a  roar- 
ing torrent,  tearing  up  landmarks  and  sweeping  all  be- 
fore them  in  promiscuous  ruin.  Almost  every  evil  which 
environs  the  path  to  wealth,  springs  from  that  criminal 
haste  which  substitutes  adroitness  for  industry,  and 
trick  for  toil. 

III.     Let  me  warn   you  against  covetousnes.^.      Thou 

shall  not  covet.,  is  the  law  by  v/hich  God   sought  to  bless 

a  favorite  people.     Covetousness  is  greediness  of  money. 

The  Bible  meets  it  by  significant  icoes^^a  by  God's  hatred,  f^ 

a  Hah.  n.  9.  b  Ps.  x.  3. 


64  SIX      WARNINGS. 

by  solemn  iva7-Jiings,<i  by  denunciations,!^  by  exclusion 
fro7n  Heaven.'^  This  pecuniary  gluttony  comes  upon 
the  competitors  for  wealth  insidiously.  At  first,  busi- 
ness is  only  a  means  of  paying  for  our  pleasures. 
Vanity  soon  whets  the  appetite  for  money,  to  sustain 
her  parade  and  competition,  to  gratify  her  piques  and 
jealousies.  Pride  throws  in  fuel  for  a  brighter  flame. 
Vindictive  hatreds  often  augment  the  passion,  until  the 
whole  soul  glows  as  a  fervid  furnace,  and  the  body  is 
driven  as  a  boat  whose  ponderous  engine  trembles  with 
the  utmost  energy  of  steam. 

Covetousness  is  unprofitable.  It  defeats  its  own  pur- 
poses. It  breeds  restless  daring,  where  it  is  dangerous  to 
venture.  It  works  the  mind  to  fever,  so  that  its  judg- 
ments are  not  cool,  nor  its  calculations  cahu.  Greed 
of  money  is  like  fire  ;  the  more  fuel  it  has,  the  hotter  it 
burns.  Every  thing  conspires  to  intensify  the  heat. 
Loss  excites  by  desperation,  and  gain  by  exhilaration. 
When  there  is  fever  in  the  blood,  there  is  fire  on  the 
brain ;  and  courage  turns  to  rashness,  and  rashness  runs 
to  ruin. 

Covetousness  breeds  misery.  The  sight  of  houses 
better  than  our  own,  of  dress  beyond  our  means,  of 
jewels  costlier  than  we  may  wear,  of  stately  equipage, 
and  rare  curiosities  beyond  our  reach,  these  hatch  the 
viper  brood  of  covetous  thoughts  ;  vexing  the  poor — who 
would  be  rich  ;  tormenting  the  rich — who  would  be 
richer.  The  covetous  man  pines  to  see  pleasure ;  is 
sad  in  the  presence  of  cheerfulness  ;  and  the  joy  of  the 
world  is  his  sorrow,  because  all  the   happiness  of  others 

a  Luke  xii.  15.  b  1  Cot.  p.  10,  11.,  Isai.  hii.  17.         c  1  Cor.  vi.  10. 


SIX      WARNINGS.  65 

is  not  his.  I  do  not  wonder  that  God  aiZ/or^a  iiim.  He 
inspects  his  heart,  as  he  would  a  cave  full  of  noisome 
birds,  or  a  nest  of  rattling  reptiles,  and  loathes  the  sight 
of  its  crawling  tenants.  To  the  covetous  man  life  is  a 
nightmare,  and  God  lets  him  wrestle  with  it  as  best  he 
may.  Mammon  might  build  its  palace  on  such  a  heart, 
and  Pleasure  bring  all  its  reveh\y  there,  and  Honor  all 
its  garlands — it  would  be  like  pleasure  in  a  sepulchre, 
and  garlands  on  a  tomb. 

The  creed  of  the  greedy  man  is  brief  and  consistent ; 
and,  unlike  other  creeds,  is  both  subscribed  and  believed. 
The  chief  end  of  man  is  to  glorify  gold  and  enjoy  it  for- 
ever: life  is  a  time  afforded  man  to  grow  rich  in:  death, 
the  winding  up  of  speculations  :  heaven,  a  mart  with  gol- 
den streets :  hell,  a  place  ivhere  shiftless  men  are  punished 
with  everlasting  poverty. 

God  searched  among  the  beasts,  (and  took  a  very 
mean  one.)  for  a  fit  emblem  of  contempt,  to  describe  the 
end  of  a  covetous  prince  :  He  shall  he  buried  with  the 
burial  of  an  Ass,  drawn  and  cast  forth  beyond  the  gates 
of  Jerusalem.^  He  whose  heart  is  turned  to  greediness, 
who  sweats  through  life  under  the  load  of  labor  only 
t^  heap  up  money,  and  dies  without  private  useful- 
ness, or  a  record  of  public  service,  is  no  better,  in  God's 
estimation,  than  a  pack-horse — a  mule — an  ass ;  a  crea- 
ture for  burdens,  to  be  beaten,  and  worked  and  killed, 
and  dragged  off'  by  another  like  him,  abandoned  to  the 
birds  and  forgotten. 

He  is  buried  with  the  burial  of  an  ass  !  This  is 
the  miser's  epitaph — and  yours,  young  man  !  if  you  wish 
it,  and  earn  it  by  covetousness ! 

a  I's.  X.  3.  b  Jer.  xxii.  19. 

6* 


66  SIX      WARNINGS. 

IV.  I  warn  you  against  selfishness.  Of  riches  it  is 
written  :  There  is  no  good  in  them  hut  for  a  man  to  re- 
joice and  do  good  in  his  life.a  If  men  absorb  their  pro- 
perty, it  parches  the  heart  so  that  it  will  not  give  forth 
blossoms  and  fruits,  but  only  thorns  and  thistles.  If 
men  radiate  and  reflect  upon  others  some  rays  of  the 
prosperity  which  shines  upon  themselves,  wealth  is 
not  only  harmless,  but  full  of  advantage. 

The  thoroughfares  of  wealth  are  crowded  by  a  throng 
who  iostle,and  thrust,  and  conflict,  like  men  in  the  tumult 
of  a  battle.  The  rules  which  crafty  old  men  breathe 
into  the  ears  of  the  young  are  full  of  selfish  wisdom ; — 
teaching  them  that  the  chief  end  of  man  is  to  harvest, 
to  husband,  and  to  hoard.  Their  life  is  made  obedient  to 
a  scale  of  preferences  graded  from  a  sordid  experience  ; 
a  scale  which  has  penury  for  one  extreme,  and  parsi- 
mony for  the  other  ;  and  the  virtues  are  ranked  between 
them  as  they  are  relatively  fruitful  in  physical  thrift. 
Every  crevice  of  the  heart  is  caulked  with  costive  max- 
ims, so  that  no  precious  drop  of  wealth  may  leak  out 
through  inadvertent  generosities.  Indeed,  generosity  and 
all  its  company  are  thought  to  be  little  better  than  pilfer- 
ing picklocks,  against  whose  wiles  the  heart  is  prepared, 
like  a  coin-vault,  with  iron-clenched  walls  of  stone,  and 
impenetrable  doors.  Mercy,  pity,  and  sympathy,  are  va- 
grant fowls ;  and  that  they  may  not  scale  the  fence  be- 
tween a  man  and  his  neighbors,  their  wings  are  clipped 
by  the  Misers  master-maxim — Charity  begins  at  home. 
It  certainly  stays  there. 

The    habit     of    regarding    men  '  as    dishonest   rivals, 
dries  up,   cJso,   the    kindlier   feelings.     A    shrewd    traf- 

a  Eccl.  in.  12 


S  I  X      AV  A  R  N  I  N  G  S  .  67 

ficker  must  watch  his  fellows,  be  suspicious  of  their 
proffers,  vigilant  of  their  movements,  and  jealous  of 
their  pledges.  The  world's  way  is  a  very  crooked  way, 
and  a  very  guileful  one.  Its  travellers  creep  by  stealth, 
or  walk  craftily,  or  glide  in  concealments,  or  appear  in 
specious  guises.  He  who  stands  out-watching  among 
men,  to  pluck  his  advantage  from  their  hands,  or  to  lose 
it  by  their  wiles,  comes  at  length  to  regard  all  men  os 
either  enemies  or  instruments.  Of  course  he  thinks  it 
fair  to  strip  an  enemy  ;  and  just  as  fair  to  use  an  instru- 
ment. Men  are  no  more  to  him  than  bales,  boxes,  or 
goods — mere  matters  of  traffic.  If  he  ever  relaxes  his 
commercial  rigidity  to  indulge  in  the  fictions  of  poetry,  it 
is  when,  perhaps  on  Sundays  or  at  a  funeral,  he  talks 
quite  prettily  about  friendship,  and  generosity,  and  phi- 
lanthropy. The  tightest  ship  may  leak  in  a  storm,  and 
an  unbartered  penny  may  escape  from  this  man,  when 
the  surprise  of  the  solicitation,  gives  no  time  for  thought. 
He  is,  however,  generous : — very  generous,  very  con- 
siderate, and  very  kind, — to  himself;  but  here  the 
stream  sinks  and  is  seen   no  more. 

The  heart  cannot  wholly  petrify  without  some  hon- 
est revulsions.  Opiates  are  administered  to  it.  This 
business-man  tells  his  heart  that  it  is  beset  by  unscrupu- 
lous enemies;  that  beneficent  virtues  are  doors  to  let 
them  in  ;  that  liberality  is  bread  given  to  one's  foes  ;  and 
selfishness  only  self-defence.  At  the  same  time,  he 
enriches  the  future  with  generous  promises.  While 
he  is  getting  rich,  he  cannot  afford  to  be  liberal ;  but 
when  once  he  is  rich,  ah  !  how  liberal  he  means  to  be  ! 
— as  though  habits  could  be  unbuckled  like  a  girdle, 
and   were   not   rather   steel-bands   rivetted,  defying  the 


68  S  I  X      AV  A  R  N  I  N  G  S  . 

edge   of  any   man's   resolution,  and    clasping  the  lieart 
with  invincible  servitude  ! 

Thorough  selfishness  destroys  or  paralyzes  enjoyment. 
A  heart  made  selfish  by  the  contest  for  wealth  is  like  a 
citadel  stormed  in  war.  The  banner  of  victory  waves 
over  dilapidated  walls,  desolate  chambers,  and  maga- 
zines riddled  with  artillery.  ]Men,  covered  with  sweat, 
and  begrimmed  with  toil,  expect  to  find  joy  in  a  heart 
reduced  by  selfishness  to  a  smouldering  heap  of  ruins. 

I  warn  every  aspirant  for  wealth  against  the  infernal 
canker  of  selfishness.  It  will  eat  out  the  heart  with  thr 
fire  of  hell,  or  bake  it  harder  than  a  stone.  The  heart 
of  avaricious  old  age  stands  like  a  bare  rock  in  a  bleak 
wilderness,  and  there  is  no  rod  of  authority,  nor  incanta- 
tion of  pleasure,  which  can  draw  from  it  one  chrystal 
drop  to  quench  the  raging  thirst  for  satisfaction.  But 
listen  not  to  my  w^ords  alone ;  hear  the  solemn  voice  of 
God,  pronouncing  doom  upon  the  selfish  :  Your  riches  are 
corrupted^  and  your  garments  are  moth  eaten.  Your  gold 
and  silver  is  cankered;  and  the  rust  of  them  shall  be  a  wit- 
ness against  you,  and  shall  eat  yourjlesh  as  it  were  fire. « 
y.  1  warn  you  against  seeking  wealth  by  covert 
prsHoxESTY.  The  everlasting  plea  of  petty  fraud  or  open 
dishonesty,  is,  its  necessity  or  profitableness. 

It  is  neither  necessary  nor  profitable.  The  hope  is  a 
deception,  and  the  excuse  a  lie.  The  severity  of  com- 
petition affords  no  reason  for  dishonesty  in  word  or 
deed.  Competition  is  fair,  but  not  all  methods  of  com- 
petition. A  mechanic  may  compete  with  a  mechanic, 
by  rising  earlier,  by  greater  industry,  by  greater  skill, 
more  punctuality,  greater  thoroughness,  by  employing 

a  James  v.  2,  3. 


s  r  X     W  A  R  N  I  N  G  s .  69 

better  materials  ;  by  a  more  scrupulous  fidelity  to  prom- 
ises, and  by  facility  in  accommodation.  A  merchant 
may  study  to  excel  competitors,  by  a  better  selection  of 
goods,  by  more  obliging  manners,  by  more  rigid  hon- 
esty, by  a  better  knowledge  of  the  market,  by  better 
taste  in  the  arrangement  of  his  goods.  Industry,  hon- 
esty, kindness,  taste,  genius  and  skill,  are  the  only  mate- 
rials of  all  rightful  competition. 

But  whenever  you  have  exerted  all  your  knowledge, 
all  your  skill,  all  your  industry,  with  long  continued  pa- 
tience and  without  success,  then,"  it  is  clear,  not  that 
you  may  proceed  to  employ  trick  and  cunning,  but  that 
you  must  stop  !  God  has  put  before  you  a  bound  which 
no  man  may  overleap.  There  may  be  the  appearance 
of  gain  on  the  knavish  side  of  the  wall  of  honor.  Traps 
arc  always  baited  with  food  sweet  to  the  taste  of  the  in- 
tended victim  ;  and  Satan  is  too  crafty  a  trapper  not  to 
scatter  the  pitfall  of  dishonesty  with  some  shining  parti- 
cles of  gold. 

But  what  if  fraud  ice7-e  necessary  to  permanent  suc- 
cess ?  will  you  take  success  upon  such  terms  ?  I  per- 
ceive, too  o(^en,  that  young  men  regard  the  argument  as 
ended,  when  they  prove  to  themselves  that  they  cannot 
be  rich  withoul  guile.  Yery  well ;  then  be  poor.  But  if 
you  prefer  money  to  honor,  you  may  well  swear  fidelity 
to  this  villain's  law  !  If  it  is  not  base  and  detestable  to 
gain  by  equivocation,  neither  is  it  by  lying ;  and  if  not 
by  lying,  neither  is  it  by  stealing  ;  and  if  not  by  stealing, 
neither  by  robbery  or  murder.  Will  you  tolerate  the 
loss  of  honor  and  honesty  for  the  sake  of  profit?  For 
exactly  this,  Judas  betrayed  Christ,  and  Arnold  his 
country.     Because  it  is  the  only  w^ay  to  gain  some  plea- 


70  SIX      WARNINGS. 

sure,  may  a  wife  yield  her  lionor  ? — a  politician  sell 
himself? — a  statesman  barter  his  counsel? — a  judge 
take  bribes? — a  juryman  forswear  himself? — or  a  wit- 
ness commit  perjury  ?  Then  virtues  are  marketable 
commodities,  and  may  be  hung  up,  like  meat  in  the  sham- 
bles, or  sold  at  auction  to  the  highest  bidder. 

Who  can  afford  a  victory  gained  by  a  defeat  of  his 
virtue  ?  What  prosperity  can  compensate  the  plunder- 
ing of  a  man's  heart?  A  good  name  is  rather  to  be  cliosen 
than  great  riches :  (^  sooner  or  later  every  man  will  find 
it  so. 

With  what  dismay  would  Esau  have  sorrowed  for  a 
lost  birthright,  had  he  lost  also  the  pitiful  mess  of  pot- 
tage for  .which  he  sold  it  ?  With  what  double  despair 
would  Judas  have  clutched  at  death,  if  he  had  not  ob- 
tained even  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver  which  were  t-- 
pay  his  infamy  ?  And  with  what  utter  confusion  will  all 
dishonest  men,  who  were  learning  of  the  Devil  to  de- 
fraud other  men,  find  at  length,  that  he  was  giving  his 
most  finished  lesson  of  deception, — by  cheating  thei7i! 
and  making  poverty  and  disgrace  the  only  fruit  of  the 
lies  and  frauds  which  were  framed  for  prn^t!  Getting 
treasure  by  a  hjing  tongue  is  a  vanity  tossed  to  and  fro 
of  them  that  seek  death. f* 

Men  have  only  looked  upon  the  beginning  of  a  career 
when  they  pronounce  upon  the  profitableness  of  dis- 
honesty. Many  a  ship  goes  gaily  out  of  harbor  which 
never  returns  again.  That  only  is  a  good  voyage  which 
brings  hoine  the  richly  freighted  ship.  God  explicitly 
declares  that  an  inevitable  curse  of  dishonesty  shall  fall 
upon  the  criminal  himself,  or  upon  his  children  :  He  that 

a  Prov.  xxii.  1.  b  Prov.  xxi.  6. 


S  I  X      -W  A  K  N  I  N  G  S  .  71 

by  usury,  and  tinjust  gain,  increaselh  his  substance,  he, 
shall  gather  it  for  him  that  will  pity  the  poor."'  His 
children  are  far  from  safety,  and  they  are  crushed  in  the 
gate.  Neither  is  there  any  to  deliver  them:  the  robber 
swalloweth  up  their  substance.^ 

Iniquities,  whose  end  is  dark  as  midnight,  are  permitted 
to  open  bright  as  the  morning  ;  the  most  poisonous  bud 
unfolds  with  brilliant  colors.  So  the  threshold  of  perdi- 
tion is  burnished  till  it  glows  like  the  gate  of  paradise. 
There  is  a  way  which  seemeth  right  unto  a  man,  but  the 
ends  thereof  are  the  ways  of  death. c  This  is  dishonesty 
described  to  the  life.  At  first  you  look  down  upon  a 
smooth  and  verdant  path  covered  with  flowers,  perfum- 
ed with  odors," and  overhung  with  fruits  and  grateful 
shade.  Its  long  perspective  is  illusive;  for  it  ends  quick- 
ly in  a  precipice,  over  which  you  pitch  into  irretrievable 
ruin. 

For  the  sources  of  this  inevitable  disaster,  we  need 
look  no  further  than  the  eflect  of  dishonesty  upon  a 
man's  own  mind.  The  difference  between  cunning  and 
wisdom,  is  the  difference  between  acting  by  the  certain 
and  immutable  laws  of  nature,  and  acting  by  the  shifts 
of  temporary  expedients.  An  honest  man  puts  his  pros- 
perity upon  the  broad  current  of  those  laws  which  gov- 
ern the  world.  A  crafty  man  means  to  pry  between 
them,  to  steer  across  them,  to  take  advantage  of  them. 
An  honest  man  steers  by  God's  chart ;  and  a  dishonest 
man  by  his  own.  Which  is  the  most  liable  to  perplexi- 
ties and  fatal  mistakes  of  judgment  ?  Wisdom  steadily 
ripens  to  the  end  ;  cunning  is  worm-ljitten,  and  soon 
drops  from  the  tree. 

a  Prov.  xxnii.  8.  b  Job.  v.  4,  5.  c  Prov.  xiv.  12. 


72  S  I  X      W  A  R  N  I  N  G  S  . 

I  could  repeat  the  names  of  many  men  (every  village 
has  such,  and  they  swarm  in  cities)  who  are  skillful,  inde- 
fatigable, but  audaciously  dishonest ;  and  for  a  time  they 
seemed  going  straight  forward  to  the  realm  of  wealth. 
I  never  knew  a  single  one  to  avoid  ultimate  ruin.  Men 
who  act  under  dishonest  passions,  are  like  men  riding 
fierce  horses.  It  is  not  always  with  the  rider  when  or 
where  he  shall  stop.  If  for  his  sake,  the  steed  dashes 
wildly  on  while  the  road  is  smooth  ;  so,  turning  suddenly 
into  a  rough  and  dangerous  way,  the  rider  must  go 
madly  forward  for  the  steed's  sake, — now  chafed,  his 
mettle  up,  his  eye  afire,  and  beast  and  burden  like  a  bolt 
speeding  through  the  air,  until  some  bound  or  sudden 
fall  tumble  both  to  the  ground — a  crushed  and  mangled 
mass. 

A  man  pursuing  plain  ends  by  honest  means  may  be 
troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed:  perplexed,  but  not 
in  dispair:  persecuted,  but  not  forsaken:  cast  down,  but 
not  destroyed.''  But  those  that  pursue  their  advantage 
by  a  round  of  dishonesties,  ivhen  fear  cometh  as  a  deso- 
lation, and  destruction  as  a  wliirlwind,  when  distress  and 
anguish  come  upoji  them,  .  .  .  shall  eat  of  the  fruit  of 
their  own  loay,  and  be  filled  icith  their  own  devices  ;  for 
the  turning  away  of  the  simple  shall  slay  them  ;  and  the 
prosperity  of  fools  shall  destroy  them.'' 

VI.  The  Bible  overflows  with  warnings  to  those 
who  gain  wealth  by  violent  extortion,  or  by  any  flagrant 
villany.  Some  men  stealthily  slip  from  under  them,  the 
possessions  of  the  poor.  Some  beguile  the  simple  and 
heedless  of  their  patrimony.  Some  tyranize  over  igno- 
rance, and   extort  from  it  its  fair  domains.     Some  steal 

a  2  Cor.  iv.  8,  9.  b  Prov.  i.  27—32. 


SIX      WARNINGS.  73 

away  the  senses,  and  intoxicate  the  mind — the  more 
readilv  and  largely  to  cheat ;  some  set  their  traps  in  all 
the  dark  places  of  men's  adversity,  and  prowl  for 
wrecks  all  along  the  shores  on  which  men's  fortunes  go 
to  pieces.  Men  will  take  advantage  of  extreme  misery, 
to  wring  it  with  more  griping  tortures,  and  compel  it  to 
the  extremest  sacrifices  ;  and  stop  only  when  no  more 
can  be  borne  by  the  sufferer,  or  nothing  more  extracted 
by  the  usurer.  The  earth  is  as  full  of  avaricious  mon- 
sters, as  the  tropical  forests  are  of  beasts  of  prey.  But 
amid  all  the  lions,  and  tigers,  and  hyenas,  is  seen  the 
stately  bulk  of  three  huge  Behemoths. 

The  first  Behemoth  is  that  incarnate  fiend  who  navi- 
gates the  ocean  to  traffic  in  human  misery  and  freight 
with  the  groans  and  tears  of  agony.  Distant  shores  are 
sought  with  cords  and  manacles  ;  villages  surprised  with 
torch  and  sword ;  and  the  loathsome  ship  swallows  what 
the  sword  and  the  fire  has  spared.  By  night  and  day 
the  voyage  speeds,  and  the  storm  spares  wretches  more 
relentless  than  itself.  The  wind  wafts  and  the  sun 
lights  the  path  for  a  ship  whose  log  is  written  in  blood. 
Hideous  profits,  dripping  red,  even  at  this  hour,  lure  these 
infernal  miscreants  to  their  remorseless  errands.  The 
thirst  of  gold  inspires  such  courage,  skill,  and  cunning 
vigilance,  that  the  thunders  of  four  allied  navies  cannot 
sink  the  infamous  fiieet. 

What  wonder?  Just  such  a  Behemoth  of  rapacity 
stalks  among  us,  and  fattens  on  the  blood  of  our 
sons.  Men  there  are,  who,  without  a  pang  or  gleam  of 
remorse,  will  coolly  wait  for  character  to  rot,  and  health 
to  sink,  and  means  to  melt,  that  they  may  suck  up  the 
last  drop  of  the  victim's  blood.  Our  streets  are  full  of 
7 


74  SIX      WARNINGS. 

reeling  wretches  whose  bodies  and  nianhood  and  souls 
have  been  crushed  and  put  to  the  press,  that  monsters 
might  wring  out  of  them  a  wine  for  their  infernal  thirst. 
The  agony  of  midnight  massacre,  the   phrenzy  of  the 
ship's  dungeon,  the  living  death  of  the  middle  passage, 
the  wails  of  separation,  and  the  dismal  torpor  of  hope- 
less servitude — are  these  found  only  in  the  piracy  of 
the  slave-trade  ?     They  all  are  among  us  !  worse  assassi- 
nations !  worse  dragging  to  a  prison-ship !  worse  groans 
ringing  from   the  fetid  hold  1  worse  separations  of  fami- 
lies !  worse  bondage  of  intemperate  men,  enslaved  by 
that  most  inexorable  of  all  task-masters — sensiftil  habit ! 
The  third  Behemoth  is  seen  luiiiing  among  the  Indian 
savages,  and  bringing  the  arts  of  learning,  and  the  skill 
of  civilization,  to   aid  in  plundering   the  debauched  bar- 
barian.    The  cunning,  murdering,  scal[)ing  Indian,  is  no 
match  for  the  christian  white-man.     Compared  with  the 
midnight  knavery  of  men  reared   in   schools,  rocked   by 
religion,  tempered  and  taught  by  the  humane  institutions 
of  liberty  and  civilization,  all  the  craft  of  the  savage   is 
twilight.     Vast  estates  have  been  accumulated,  without 
having  an  honest  farthing  in  them.     Our  Penitentiaries 
might  be  sent  to  school  to  the  Treaty-grounds  and  Coun- 
cil-grounds.     Smugglers    and    swindlers   might   humble 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  Indian  traders.     All  the 
crimes  against  property  known  to  our  laws  flourish  with 
unnatural  vigor  ;  and  some,  unknown  to  civilized  villany. 
To  swindle  ignorance,   to   over-reach  simplicity,  to  lie 
without    scruple    to  any  extent,  from  mere   implication 
down    to    perjury  ;    to  tempt   the  savages  to  rob  each 
other,  and  to  receive  their  plunder  ;  to  sell  goods  at  in- 
credible prices   to  the  sober  Indian,  then  to   intoxicate 
him,  and  steal  them   all  back  by  a  sham   bargain,  to  he 


S  I  X      AV  A  R  N  I  N  G  S  .  75 

sold  again,  and  stolen  again  ;  to  employ  falsehood,  lust, 
threats,  whiskey,  and  even  the  knife  and  the  pistol ;  iu 
short,  to  consume  the  Indian's  substance  by  every  vice 
and  crime  possible  to  an  unprincipled  heart  inflamed 
with  an  insatiable  rapacity,  unwatched  by  Justice,  and 
unrestrained  by  Law — this  it  is  to  be  an  Indian  Tra- 
der. I  would  rather  inherit  the  bowels  of  V^esuvius,  or 
make  my  bed  in  Etna,  than  own  the  burning  lava  of 
those  estates  which  have  been  scalped  off  from  human 
beings  as  the  hunter  strips  a  beaver  of  its  fur.  Of  all 
these,  OF  all  who  gain  possessions  by  extortion  and  rob- 
beiy,  never  let  yourself  be  envious  !  1  loas  envious  at 
the  foolish,  when  I  saw  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked.  Their 
eyes  stand  out  with  fatness:  thei/  have  more  than  heart 
could  wish.  They  are  corrupt,  and  speak  wickedly  concern- 
ing oppression.  They  have  set  their  mouth  against  the 
heaven,  and  their  tongue  walketh  ilirough  the  earth. 
When  I  sought  to  know  this,  it  was  too  j}ainful  for  me,  un- 
til I  went  into  the  sanctuary.  Surely  thou  didst  set  them 
in  slippery  jilacesl  thou  castedst  them  down  into  destruc- 
tion as  in  a  moment!  They  are  utterly  consumed  with 
terrors.  As  a  dream  when  one  awakelh,  so  O  Lord!  lolien 
thou  awakest,  thou  shalt  despise  their  image!"' 

I  would  not  bear  their  hearts  who  have  so  made 
money,  were  the  world  a  solid  globe  of  gold,  and  mine. 
1  would  not  stand  for  them  in  the  judgment,  were  every 
star  of  Heaven  a  realm  of  riches,  and  mine.  I  would 
not  walk  with  them  the  burning  marl  of  Hell,  to  bear 
their  torment,  and  utter  their  groans,  for  the  throne  of 
God  itself. 

Let   us   hear    the    conclusion   of   the    whole    matter. 


SIX      -WARNINGS. 


Riches  got  by  deceit,  cheat  no  man  so  much  as  the 
getter.  Riches  bought  with  guile,  God  will  pay  for 
with  vengeance.  Riches  got  by  fraud,  are  dug  out  of 
one's  own  heart,  and  destroy  the  mine.  Unjust  riches 
curse  the  owner  in  getting,  in  keeping,  in  transmitting. 
They  curse  his  children  in  their  father's  memory,  in 
their  own  wasteful  habits,  in  drawing  around  them  all 
bad  men  to  be  their  companions. 

While  I  do  not  discourage  your  search  for  wealth,  1 
warn  you  that  it  is  not  a  cruise  upon  level  seas,  and 
under  bland  skies.  You  advance  where  ten  thousand 
are  broken  in  pieces  before  they  reach  the  mart ;  where 
those  who  reach  it  are  worn  out  by  their  labors  past 
enjoying  their  riches.  You  seek  a  land  pleasant  to  the 
sight,  but  dangerous  to  the  feet  ;  a  land  of  fragrant  winds, 
which  lull  to  security  ;  of  golden  fruits,  which  are  pois- 
onous;  of  glorious  hues,  which  dazzle  and  mislead. 

You  may  be  rich  and  be  pure  ;  but  it  will  cost  you  a 
struggle.  You  may  be  rich  and  go  to  heaven  ;  but  ten, 
doubtless,  will  sink  beneath  their  riches,  where  one 
breaks  through  them  to  Heaven.  If  you  have  entered 
this  shining  way,  begin  to  look  for  snares  and  traps.  Go 
not  careless  of  your  danger,  and  provoking  it.  See,  on 
every  side  of  you,  how  many  there  are  who  seal  God's 
word  with  their  blood  : — 

They  that  will  be  rich,  fall  into  temjAalion  and  a  snare, 
and  into  many  foolish  and  hurtful  lusts,  which  drown  men 
in  destruction  and  perdition.  For  the  love  of  Money  is 
the  root  of  all  evil,  lohich,  while  some  have  coveted  after, 
they  have  erred  from  the  faith,  and  pierced  themselves 
through  icith  many  sorrovjs.'^ 

a  1  Tim.  li.  9,  10. 


LECTURE    IV. 


My  son,  if  sinners  entice  tliee,  consent  thou  not.     Prov.  i.  10. 

He  who  is  allured  to  embrace  evil  under  some  engag- 
ing form  of  beauty,  or  seductive  appearance  of  good,  is 
enticed.  A  man  is  tempted  to  what  he  knows  to  be  sin- 
ful ;  he  is  enticed  where  the  evil  appears  to  be  innocent. 
The  Enticer  wins  his  way  by  bewildering  the  moral 
sense,  setting  false  lights  ahead  of  the  imagination,  paint- 
ing disease  with  the  hues  of  health,  making  impurity  to 
glow  like  innocency,  strewing  the  broad-road  with  flow- 
ers, lulling  its  travellers  with  soothing  music,  hiding  all 
its  chasms,  covering  its  pitfalls,  and  closing  its  long  per- 
spective with  the  mimic  glow  of  Paradise.  Enticers  are 
mean,  under  the  guise  of  magnanimity  ;  corrupt,  under 
the  appearance  of  virtue  ;  v/ith  a  great  show  of  jionor, 
they  are  base ;  they  cover  a  foul  and  pestilent  heart 
with  the  show  of  modesty.  They  scruple  at  nothing 
which  is  wicked,  if  it  is  baptized  with  the  name  of  some 
virtue.  Their  tricks  are  christened  sagacity  ;  their  sel- 
fishness, frugality;  their  pride,  personal  dignity;  their 
extortion,  justice ;  their  salacious  heats,  human  nature  : 
and  the  full  tide  of  depravity,  only  man's  weakness. 
7* 


/o  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

The  young  are  seldom  tempted  to  outright  wicked- 
ness ;  evil  comes  to  them  as  an  enticement.  The  hon- 
est generosity  and  fresh  heart  of  youth  would  revolt 
from  open  meanness  and  undisguised  vice.  The  Adver- 
sary conforms  his  wiles  to  their  nature.  He  tempts 
them  to  the  basest  deeds  by  beginning  with  innocent 
ones,  gliding  to  more  exceptionable,  and  finally,  to  posi- 
tively wicked  ones. 

The  deadliest  ends  have  the  pleasantest  beginnings, 
as,  often,  destructive  paths  open  in  sunny  meads  and 
meadovi^s.  All  our  warnings  then  must  be  against  the 
vernal  beauty  of  vice.  Its  autumn  and  winter  none 
wish.  It  is  the  bud  and  graceful  blossom,  hiding  poison 
under  brilliant  colors,  that  entice  the  unwary  to  pluck 
the  fatal  beauty. — It  is  my  purpose  to  describe  the  en- 
ticement of  particular  men  upon  the  young. 

Every  youth  knows  that  there  are  dcngerous  men 
abroad  who  would  injure  him  by  lying,  by  slander,  by 
over-reaching  and  plundering  him.  From  such  they  have 
little  to  fear,  because  they  are  upon  their  guard.  Few 
imagine  that  they  have  any  thing  to  dread  from  those 
who  have  no  designs  against  them ;  yet,  such  is  the 
instinct  of  imitation,  so  insensibly  does  the  example 
of  men  steal  upon  us  and  warp  our  conduct  to  their 
likeness,  that  the  young  often  receive  a  deadly  injury 
from  men  with  whom  they  never  spoke.  As  all 
bodies  in  nature  give  out  or  receive  caloric  until  there 
is  an  equilibrium  of  temperature,  so  there  is  a  radia- 
tion of  character  upon  character.  Our  thoughts,  our 
tastes,  our  emotions,  our  partialities,  our  prejudices,  and 
finally,  our  conduct  and  habits,  are  insensibly  changed 
l)y  the  silent  influence  of  men  who  never  once  directlv 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  79 

tempted  us,  or  even  knew  the  effect  which  they  pro- 
duced. I  shall  draw  for  your  inspection  some  of  these 
dangerous  men,  whose  open  or  silent  enticement  has 
availed  against  thousands,  and  will  be  exerted  upon 
thousands  more. 

I.     The    \vn.     It    is    sometimes    said   by    phlegmatic 
theologians   that  Christ  never  laughed,  but  often   wept. 
1  shall  not  quarrel  with  the  assumption.     I  only  say  that 
men  have   within   them  a  faculty  of  mirthfulness  which 
God  created.     I  suppose  it  was  meant  for  use.     Those 
who  do  not  feel  the  impulsion  of  this  faculty,  are  not  the 
ones  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  those  who  do.     It  would 
be  very   absurd  for  an  owl  in  an   ivy   bush,  to  read  lec- 
tures on  optics  to  an  eagle  ;  or  for  a  mole  to  counsel  a 
lynx  on  the  sin  of  sharp-sightedness.     Stupid  as  these 
animals  are,  we  know  not  that  they  ever  attempted  such 
folly.     It  is  worthy  of  God,  that  beside  the  sober  facul- 
ties of  the  mind,  there  should  be  an   Imagination  to  see 
a  bloom  and  beauty  on   every  thing  ;  and   Wit,  to  the 
eye  of  which  every  thing  glances  with  varied  colors,  like 
changeable  silk.     He  is  divinely  favored  who  thus  may 
trace  a  silver  vein  in  all  the  affairs  of  life  ;  see  sparkles  of 
light  in  the  gloomiest  scenes  ;  and  absolute  radiance  in 
those  which  are   bright.     There  are    in  the  clouds  ten 
thousand    inimitable    forms    and    hues    to    be    found    no 
where   else ;     there    are    in    plants    and    trees    beautiful 
shapes   and    endless    varieties    of  color ;     there    are    in 
flowers  minute   pencilings  of  exquisite  color;  in  fruits  a 
delicate  bloom, — like  a  veil,  making  the  face  of  beauty 
more  beautiful ;  sporting  among  the  trees,  and  upon  the 
flowers,  are  tiny  insects — gems  which  glow  like  living  dia- 
monds.    Ten  thousand  eyes  stare  full  upon  these  things 


80  PORTRAIT    gallp:ry. 

and  see  nothing  ;  yet  they  are,  to  those  who  observe 
them,  the  poHsh  with  which  the  Divine  Artist  has  finished 
his  matchless  work.  Thus,  too,  upon  all  the  labors  of 
life,  the  events  of  each  hour,  the  course  of  good  or  evil  ; 
upon  each  action,  or  word,  or  attitude  ;  upon  all  the  end- 
less changes  transpiring  among  myriad  men,  there  is  a 
delicate  grace,  or  bloom,  or  sparkle,  or  radiance,  which 
catches  the  eye  of  Wit,  and  delights  it  with  appearances 
which  are  to  the  weightier  matters  of  life,  what  odor, 
colors,  and  symmetry,  are  to  the  marketable  and  commer- 
cial properties  of  matter. 

A  mind  imbued  with  this  feeling  is  full  of  dancing 
motes,  such  as  we  see  moving  in  sunbeams  when  they 
pour  through  some  shutter  into  a  dark  room  ;  and  when 
the  sights  and  conceptions  of  wit  are  uttered  in  words, 
they  diffuse  upon  others  that  pleasure  whose  brightness 
shines  upon  its  own  cheerful  imagination. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  Wit  is  a  universal  favorite. 
All  companies  rejoice  in  his  presence,  watch  for  his 
words,  repeat  his  language.  He  moves  like  a  comet 
whose  incomings  and  outgoings  are  uncontrolable.  He 
astonishes  the  regular  stars  with  the  eccentricity  of  his 
orbit,  and  flirts  his  long  tail  athwart  the  heaven  without 
the  slightest  misgivings  that  it  will  be  troublesome,  and 
coquets  the  very  sun  with  audacious  familiarity.  When 
wit  is  unperverted,  it  lightens  labor,  makes  the  very 
face  of  care  to  shine,  diffuses  cheerfulness  among  men, 
multiplies  the  sources  of  harmless  enjoyment,  gilds  the 
dark  things  of  life,  and  heightens  the  lustre  of  the  bright- 
est. If  perverted,  wit  becomes  an  instrument  of  ma- 
levolence, it  gives  a  deceitful  coloring  to  vice,  it  reflects 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  81 

a  semblance  of  truth  upon  error,  and  distorts   the  fea- 
tures of  real  truth  by  false  lights. 

The  Wit  is  liable  to  indolence  by  relying  upon  his 
genius  ;  to  vanity,  by  the  praise  which  is  offered  as  in- 
cense ;  to  malignant  sarcasm,  to  revenge  his  affronts  ; 
to  dissipation,  from  the  habit  of  exhilaration,  and  from 
the  company  which  court  him.  The  mere  Wit  is  only 
a  human  bauble.  He  is  to  life  what  bells  are  to  horses, 
not  expected  to  draw  the  load,  but  only  to  jingle  while 
the  horses  draw. 

The  young  often  repine  at  their  own  native  dullness  ; 
and  since  God  did  not  choose  to  endow  them  with  this 
shining  quality,  they  will  make  it  for  themselves.  Forth- 
with they  are  smitten  with  the  itch  of  imitation.  Their 
ears  purvey  to  their  mouth  the  borrowed  jest ;  their 
eyes  note  the  Wit's  fashion,  and  the  awkward  youth 
clumsily  apes,  in  a  side  circle,  the  Wit's  deft  and  grace- 
ful gesture,  the  smooth  smile,  the  roguish  twinkle,  the 
sly  look — much  as  Caliban  would  imitate  Ariel.  Everv 
community  is  supplied  with  self-made  Wits.  One  retails 
other  men's  sharp  witticisms,  as  a  Jew  puts  off  thread- 
bare garments.  Another  roars  over  his  own  brutal  ([uo- 
tations  of  scripture.  Another  invents  a  witticism  by  a 
logical  deduction  of  circumstances,  and  sniffs  and  gig- 
gles over  the  result,  as^  complacently  as  if  other  men 
laughed  too.  Others  lay  in  wait  around  your  conversa- 
tion to  trip  up  some  word,  or  strike  a  light  out  of  some 
sentence.  Others  fish  in  dictionaries  for  pitiful  puns  ; — 
and  all  fulfill  the  prediction  of  Isaiah  :  Ye  shall  conceive 
chaj\  and  bring  forth  stuhhk. 

It  becomes  a  mania.  Each  school  has  its  allusions, 
each   circle  has  its  apish  motion,   each  companionhood 


82  POKTRAIT      GALLERY. 

ils  park  of  wit-artillery  ;  and  we  find  street- wit,  shop- 
wit,  auction-wit,  school-wit,  fool's  wit,  whiskey-wit, 
stable-wit,  and  almost  every  kind  of  wit,  but  mother- 
wit  ; — puns,  quibbles,  catches,  would-be-jests,  thread-bare 
stories,  and  gew-gaw  tinsel, — every  thing  but  the  real 
diamond^  which  sparkles  simply  because  God  made  it  so 
that  it  could  not  help  sparkling.  Real,  native  mirthful- 
ness  is  like  a  pleasant  rill  which  quietly  wells  up  in 
some  verdant  nook,  and  steals  out  from  among  reeds 
and  willows  noiselessly,  and  is  seen  far  down  the 
meadow,  as  much  by  the  fruitfulness  of  its  edges  in 
flowers,  as  by  its  own  glimmering  light.  Allected  wit, 
like  a  pump,  draws  up  from  an  artificial  well,  every 
drop  by  the  force-w^ork  of  the  handle. 

Let  every  one  beware  of  the  insensible  effect  of  witty 
men  upon  him  ;  they  gild  lies,  so  that  base  coin  may  pass 
for  true  ;  that  which  is  grossly  wrong,  wit  may  make  fasci- 
nating ;  when  no  argument  could  persuade  you,  the  cor- 
ruscations  of  wit  may  dazzle  and  blind  you ;  when  duty 
presses  you,  the  threatenings  of  this  human  lightning  may 
make  you  afraid  to  do  right.  Remember  that  the  very 
best  office  of  wit,  is  only  to  lighten  the  serious  labors  of  life; 
that  it  is  only  a  torch,  by  which  men  may  cheer  the  gloom 
of  a  dark  way.  When  it  sets  up  to  be  your  counsellor  or 
your  guide,  it  is  the  fool's  fire,  flitting  irregularly  and 
leading  you  into  the  quag  or  morass.  The  great  Dra- 
matist represents  a  witty  sprite  to  have  put  an  ass's 
head  upon  a  man's  shoulders  ;  beware  that  you  do  not 
let  this  mischievous  sprite  put  an  ape's  head  upon  yours. 

If  God  has  not  given  you  this  quicksilver,  no  art  can 
make  it;  nor  need  you  regret  it.  The  stone,  the 
wood,  and  the  iron,  are  a  thousand  times  more  valua- 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  83 

ble  to  society  than  pearls  and  diamonds  and  rave  gems  ; 
and  sterling  sense,  and  industry,  and  integrity,  are  better 
a  thousand  times,  in  the  hard  work  of  living,  than  the 
brilliance  of  wit. 

II.     There  is  a  character  which  I  shall  describe  as  the 
Humorist.     I  do  not  employ  the  term  to  designate   one 
who  indulges  in  that  pleasantest  of  all  wit — latent  wit ; 
but  to   describe  a  creature  who   conceals  a  coarse  ani- 
malism under  a  brilliant,  jovial  exterior.     The  danger- 
ous humorist  is  of  a  plump  condition,  evincing  the  excel- 
lent digestion  of  a  good  eater,  and  answering  very  well 
to  the  Psalmist's  description  :  His  eyes  stand  out  with 
fatness;    he  is  not  in  trouble  as  other  men   are;  he  has 
more   than   heart   could    wish,   and    his    tongue   walketh 
through  the  earth.     Whatever  is  pleasant  in  ease,  what- 
ever  is    indulgent   in    morals,  whatever    is    solacing   in 
luxury  ;  the  jovial  few,  the  convivial  many,  the  glass,  the 
cards,  the  revel,  and   midnight  uproar, — these  are  his  de- 
lights.    His  manners  are   easy   and  agreeable  ;  his  face 
redolent  of  fun  and  good  nature  ;  his  whole  air  that  of 
a  man  fond  of  the  utmost  possible  bodily  refreshment. 
Withal,  he  is  sufficiently  circumspect  and  secretive  of  his 
course,  to  maintain  a  place  in  genteel   society ;  for  that 
is  a  luxury.     He  is  not  a  glutton,  but  a  choice  eater. 
He  is  not  a  gross  drinker,  only  a  gentlemanly  consumer 
of  every  curious  compound  of  liquor.     He  has  travelled; 
he  can  tell  you  which,  in  every  city,  is  the  best  bar,  the 
best   restaurateur,   the    best    stable.     He    knows    every 
theatre,  each  actor,  particularly  is  he  versed  in  the  select 
morsels  of  the  scandalous  indulgence  peculiar  to  each. 
He   knows  every  race-course,  every  nag,  the  history  of 
all  the  famous  matches,  and  the  pedigree  of  every  distin- 


84  PORTRAIT      GALLKRY. 

guished  horse,  even  to  the  apocalyptic  horse  which  John 
saw.  The  whole  vocabulary  of  pleasure  is  v- ernacular, — 
its  wit,  its  slang,  its  watchwords,  and  blackletter  litera- 
ture. He  is  a  profound  annalist  of  scandal  ;  every 
stream  of  news,  clear  or  muddy,  disembogues  into  the 
gulf  of  his  prodigious  memory.  He  can  tell  you,  after 
living  but  a  week  in  a  city,  who  gambles,  when,  for  what 
sums,  and  w^ith  what  fate  ;  who  is  impure,  who  was, 
who  is  suspected,  who  is  not  suspected — but  ought  to 
be.  He  is  a  morbid  anatomist  of  morals ;  a  brilliant 
flesh-fly — unerring  to  detect  taint. 

Like  other  men,  he  loves  admiration  and  desires  to  ex- 
tend his  influence.     AH  these  manifold  accomplishments 
are  exhibited  before  the   callow  young.     That   he   may 
secure  a  train  of  useful  followers,  he  is  profuse  of  money; 
and   moves  among  them  with  an  easy,  insinuating  frank- 
ness, a  never-ceasing  gaiety,  so   spicy  with   fun,  so   di- 
verting with  stories,  so  full  of  little  hits,  sly   innuendoes, 
or   solemn    wit,    with   now   and    then  a  rare    touch    of 
dextrous  mimicry,  and  the  whole  so  pervaded  by  the  in- 
describable flavor,  the  changing  hues  of  humor, — that 
the  young   are  bewildered  with  idolatrous   admiration. 
What  gay  young  man,  who  is  old  enough  to  admire  him- 
self and  be  ashamed  of  his  parents,  can  resist  a  man    so 
bedewed  with  humor,   narrating   exquisite    stories  with 
such  mock  gravity,  with    such    slyness  of  mouth,  and 
twinkling  of    the    eye,   with   such   grotesque    attitudes, 
and  significant  gestures  ?     He  is  declared  to  be  the  most 
remarkable  man  in  the  world.     Now  take  off  this  man's 
dress,  put  out  the  one  faculty  of  mirthfulness,  and  he 
would  stand  disclosed  without  a  single  positive  virtue  ! 
With  strong  appetites  deeply  indulged,  hovering  perpet- 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  85 

ually  upon  the  twilight  edge  of  every  vice  ;  and  whose 
wickedness  is  only  not  apparent,  because  it  is  garnished 
with  flowers  and  leaves  and  garlands  ;  who  is  not  des- 
pised, only  because  his  various  news,  artfully  told,  keep 
us  in  good  humor  with  ourselves  !  At  one  period  of 
youthful  life  this  creature's  influence  supplants,  that  of 
every  other  man.  There  is  an  absolute  fascination 
in  him  which  awakens  a  craving  in  the  mind  to  be 
of  his  circle  ;  plain  duties  become  drudgery,  home  has 
no  light,  life  at  its  ordinary  key  is  monotonous,  and  must 
be  screwed  up  to  the  concert  pitch  of  this  wonderful 
genius  !  As  he  tells  his  stories,  so  with  a  wretched 
grimace  of  imitation,  apprentices  will  try  to  tell  them ; 
as  he  gracefully  swings  through  the  street,  they  will 
roll ;  they  will  leer  because  he  stares  genteelly ;  he 
sips,  they  guzzle — and  talk  impudently,  because  he  talks 
with  easy  confidence.  He  walks  erect,  they  strut; 
he  lolls,  they  lounge  ;  he  is  less  than  a  man,  and  they 
become  even  less  than  he. 

Copper-rings,  huge  blotches  of  breast-pins,  wild  stream- 
ing neckerchiefs,  jaunty  hats,  odd  clothes,  superfluous 
walking-sticks,  ill-uttered  oaths,  stupid  jokes,  and  blun- 
dering pleasantries — these  are  the  first  fruits  of  imitation  ! 
There  are  various  grades  of  it,  from  the  office,  store, 
shop,  street,  clear  down  to  the  hostlery  and  the  stable. 
Our  cities  are  filled  with  these  juvenile  non-descript 
monsters,  these  compounds  of  vice,  low  wit  and  vul- 
garity. The  original  is  morally  detestable,  and  the 
counterfeit  is  a  very  base  imitation  of  a  very  base  thing  ; 
the  dark  shadow  of  a  very  ugly  substance. 

III.  The  Cynic.  The  Cynic  is  one  who  never  sees  a 
good  quality  in  a  man,  and  never  fails  to  see  a  bad  one. 


TRAIT      GALLERY. 


lie  is  the  human  owl,  vigilant  in  darkness  and  blind  to 
light,  mousing  for  vermin,  and  never  seeing  noble  game. 
The  Cynic  puts  all  human  actions  into  only  two  classes 
— openly  bad,  and  secretly  bad.  All  virtue  and  generosity 
and  disinterestedness  are  merely  the  appearance  of  good, 
but  selfish  at  the  bottom.  He  holds  that  no  man  does 
a  good  thing  except  for  profit.  The  effect  of  his  con- 
versation upon  your  feelings  is  to  chill  and  sear  them  ; 
to  send  you  away  sore  and  morose.  His  criticisms  and 
innuendoes  lall  indiscriminately  upon  every  lovely  thing, 
like  frost  upon  flowers.  If  a  man  is  said  to  be  pure  and 
chaste,  he  will  answer  :  Yes,  in  the  day  thne.  If  a  wo- 
man is  pronounced  virtuous,  he  will  reply :  yes,  as  xjel. 
3'Ir.  A.  is  a  religious  man  :  yes,on  Sundays.  Mr.  B.  has 
just  joined  the  church  :  certainly;  the  elections  are  coming 
on.  The  minister  of  the  gospel  is  called  an  example  of 
diligence  :  It  is  his  trade.  Such  a  man  is  generous  :  of 
vther  men's  money.  That  man  is  obliging :  to  lull  suspi- 
cion and  cheat  you.  This  man  is  upright :  because  he  is 
green.  Thus  his  eye  strains  out  every  good  quality, 
and  takes  in  only  the  bad, — as  the  vulture,  when  in 
the  highest  heaven,  will  sail  by  living  flocks  and  herds, 
but  comes  like  an  arrow  down  upon  the  smallest 
carcass.  To  him  religion  is  hypocrisy,  honesty  a  pre- 
paration for  fraud,  virtue  only  want  of  opportunity,  and 
undeniable  purity,  asceticism.  The  live-long  day  he  w  ill 
coolly  sit  with  sneering  lip,  uttering  sharp  speeches 
in  the  quietest  manner,  and  in  polished  phrase,  transfix- 
'm<r  every  character  which  is  presented:  His  words  are 
softer  than  oil,  yet  are  they  drawn  srcords. « 

All  this,  to  the  young,  seems  a  wonderful  knowledge  of 

a  Ps.  Iv.  21. 


PORTRAIT      CALLER r.  87 

human  nature  ;  they  honor  a  man  who  appears  to  have 
found  out  mankind.  They  begin  to  indulge  themselves 
in  flippant  sneers  ;  and  with  supercilious  l)row,  and  im- 
pudent tongue,  wagging  to  an  empty  brain,  call  to 
naught  the  wise,  the  long  tried,  and  the  venerable. 

I  do  believe  that  man  is  corrupt  enough  ;  but  some- 
thing of  good  has  survived  his  wreck ;  something  of 
evil  religion  has  restrained, .and  something  partially  re- 
stored ;  yet,  I  look  upon  the  human  heart  as  a  mountain 
of  fire.  I  dread  its  crater.  I  tremble  when  1  see  its 
lava  roll  the  fiery  stream.  Therefore,  I  am  the  more 
glad,  if  upon  the  old  crust  of  past  eruptions,  I  can  find 
a  single  flower  springing  up.  A  flower  in  a  howling 
wilderness,  is  yet  more  precious  to  the  pilgrim,  because 
the  lonely  tenant  of  desolation.  So  far  from  rejecting 
appearances  of  virtue  in  the  corrupt  heart  of  a  depraved 
race,  I  am  eager  to  see  their  light  as  ever  mariner  was 
to  see  a  star  in  a  stormy  night. 

Moss  will  grow  upon  grave-stones  ;  the  ivy  will  cXm'j, 
to  the  mouldering  pile  ;  the  mistletoe  springs  from  the 
dying  branch  ;  and,  God  be  praised,  something  green, 
something  fair  to  the  sight  and  grateful  to  the  heart, 
will  yet  twine  around  and  grow  out  of  the  seams  and 
cracks  of  the  desolate  temple  of  the  human  heart! 

Who  could  walk  through  Thebes,  Palmyra,  or  Petraaa, 
and  survey  the  wide  waste  of  broken  arches,  crumbled 
altars,  fallen  pillars,  eflaced  cornices,  toppling  walls,  and 
crushed  statues,  with  no  feelings  but  those  of  con- 
tempt? Who,  unsorrowing,  could  see  the  stork's  nest 
upon  the  carved  pillar,  satyrs  dancing  on  marble  pave- 
ments, and  hateful  scorpions  nestling  where  beauty  once 
dwelt,  and  dragons  the   sole   tenants  of  royal  palaces  ? 


o8  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

Amid  such  melancholy  magnificence,  even  the  misan- 
thrope might  weep  !  If  here  and  there  an  altar  stood 
unbruised,  or  a  graven  column  unblighted,  or  a  statue 
nearly  perfect,  he  might  well  feel  love  for  a  man- 
wrought  stone,  so  beautiful,  when  all  else  is  so  dreary 
and  desolate.  Thus,  though  man  is  as  a  desolate  city, 
and  his  passions  are  as  the  wild  beasts  of  the  wilderness 
howling  in  king's  palaces,  yet  he  is  God's  workmanship, 
and  a  thousand  touches  of  exquisite  beauty  remain. 
Since  Christ  hath  put  his  sovereign  hand  to  restore 
man's  ruin,  many  points  are  remoulded,  and  the  fair 
form  of  a  new  fabric  already  appears  growing  from  the 
ruins,  and  the  first  faint  flame  is  glimmering  upon  the 
restored  altar. 

It  is  impossible  to  indulge  in  such  habitual  severity  of 
opinion  upon  our  fellow  men,  without  injuring  the  ten- 
derness and  delicacy  of  our  own  feelings.  A  man  will 
be  what  his  most  cherished  feelings  are.  If  he  encour- 
ages appetites,  he  will  be  not  far  from  beastly  ;  if  he 
encourage  a  noble  generosity,  such  will  he  be  ;  if  he 
nurse  bitter  and  envenomed  thoughts,  his  own  spirit  will 
absorb  the  poison  ;  and  he  will  crawl  among  men  as 
a  burnished  adder,  whose  life  is  mischief,  whose  errand 
is  death. 

Although  experience  should  correct  the  indiscriminate 
confidence  of  the  young,  no  expeiience  should  render 
them  callous  to  goodness  wherever  seen.  He  who 
hunts  for  flowers,  will  find  flowers  ;  but  he  who  hunts 
for  vermin,  will  find  vermin  ;  and  he  who  loves  weeds, 
may  find  weeds.  Let  it  be  remembered,  that  no  man, 
who  is  not  himself  mortally  diseased,  will  have  a  relish 
for   disease   in    others.     A  swoln   wretch,  blotched   all 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  89 

over  with  leprosy,  may  grin  hideously  at,  every  wart  or 
excrescence  upon  beauty.  A  wholesome  man  will  be 
pained  at  it,  and  seek  not  to  notice  it.  Reject,  then,  the 
morbid  ambition  of  the  Cynic,  or  cease  to  call  yourself  a 
man  ! 

IV.  1  fear  that  few  villages  exist  without  a  specimen 
of  the  LinF.RTiNE. 

He  is  a  beast,  put  by  accident  into  human  form.  His 
errand  into  this  world  is  to  explore  every  depth  of  sen- 
suality, and  collect  upon  himself  the  foulness  of  every 
one.  He  is  proud  to  be  vile  ;  his  ambition  is  to  be  viler 
than  other  men.  Were  we  not  confronted  almost  daily 
by  such  wretches,  it  would  be  hard  to  believe  that  any 
could  exist,  to  whom  purity  and  decency  were  a  burden, 
and  only  corruption  a  delight.  This  creature  has  chang- 
ed his  nature,  until  only  that  which  disgusts  a  pure  mind 
pleases  iiis.  He  is  lured  by  the  scent  of  carrion.  His 
coarse  feelings,  stimulated  by  gross  excitants,  are  insen- 
sible to  delicacy.  The  exquisite  bloom,  the  dew  and 
freshness  of  the  ilowers  of  the  heart  which  delight  botii 
good  men  and  God  himself,  he  gazes  upon,  as  a  Behe- 
moth would  gaze  enraptured  upon  a  prairie  of  flowers. 
It  is  so  much  pasture.  The  forms,  the  odors,  the  hues 
are  only  a  mouthful  for  his  terrible  appetite.  Therefore, 
hi* breath  blights  every  innocent  thing.  He  sneers  at 
the  mention  of  purity,  and  leers  in  the  very  fiice  of 
Virtue,  as  though  she  was  herself  corrupt,  if  the  truth 
were  known.  He  assures  the  credulous  disciple  that 
there  is  no  purity  ;  that  its  appearances  are  only  the 
veils  which  cover  indulgence — the  paint  which  hides 
decay.  Nay,  he  solicits  praise  for  the  very  openness 
of  his  evil ;  and  tells  the  listener  that  all  act  as  he  acts, 
8" 


90  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

but  only  few  are  courageous  enough  to  own  it.  Tiius, 
iiis  shameless  excess  is  sanctified  with  sacred  names. 
But  the  uttermost  parts  of  depravity  are  laid  open  only 
when  several  such  monsters  meet  together,  and  vie 
with  each  other,  as  we  might  suppose  shapeless  mud- 
monsters  disport  in  the  slimiest  ooze  of  the  ocean. 
They  dive  in  fierce  rivalry  which  shall  reach  the  most 
infernal  depth,  and  bring  up  the  blackest  sediment.  It 
makes  the  blood  of  an  honest  man  run  cold,  to  iiear  but 
the  echo  of  the  shameless  rehearsals  of  their  salacious 
enterprises.  Each  strives  to  tell  a  blacker  tale  than  the 
other.  When  tlie  abomination  of  their  actual  life  is  not 
damnable  enough  to  satisfy  the  ambition  of  their  unutter- 
able corruption,  they  devise,  in  their  imagination,  scenes 
yet  moi'e  flagrant ;  swear  that  they  have  performed  them, 
and  when  they  separate,  each  strives  to  make  his  lying- 
boastings  true.  It  would  seem  as  if  miscreants  so 
loathsome  would  have  no  power  of  temptation  upon  the 
young.  Experience  shows  that  the  worst  men  are,  often, 
the  most  skilfull  in  touching  the  springs  of  human  ac- 
tion. A  young  man  knows  little  of  life  ;  less  of  himself. 
He  feels  in  his  bosom  the  various  impulses,  wild  desires, 
restless  cravings  he  can  hardly  tell  for  what,  a  som- 
bre melancholy  when  all  is  gay,  a  violent  exhilaration 
when  others  are  sober.  These  wild  gushes  of  feeling, 
peculiar  to  youth,  the  sagacious  tempter  has  felt,  has 
studied,  has  practiced  upon,  until  he  can  sit  before  that 
most  capacious  organ,  the  human  mind,  knowing  eVery 
stop  and  ail  the  combinations,  and  competent  to  toucli 
every  note  throughout  the  diapason.  As  a 'serpent  de- 
ceived the  purest  of  mortals,  so  now  a  beast  may  mis- 
lead their  posterity.     He   begins  afar  oft'.     He  decries 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  91 

the  virtue  of  all  men  ;  studies  to  produce  a  doubt  that 
any  are  under  selt-restraint.  He  unpacks  his  filthy 
stories,  plays  off  the  fire-works  of  his  corrupt  imagi- 
nation— its  blue-lights,  its  red-lights,  and  green-lights, 
and  sparkle-spitting  lights ;  and  edging  in  upon  the 
yielding  youth,  who  begins  to  wonder  at  his  experi- 
ence, he  boasts  his  first  exploits,  he  hisses  at  the  pu- 
rity of  woman  ;  he  grows  yet  bolder,  tells  moi-e  wicked 
deeds,  and  invents  worse  even  than  he  ever  performed, 
though  he  has  performed  worse  than  good  men  ever 
thought  of.  All  thoughts,  all  feelings,  all  ambition,  are 
merged  in  one  and  that  the  lowest,  vilest,  most  detes- 
table ambition. 

Had  I  a  son  of  years,  I  could,  with  thanksgiving,  see 
him  go  down  to  the  grave,  rather  than  fall  into  the  maw 
of  this  most  besotted  devil.  I  had  rather  see  him  rot  in 
a  lazar-house,  than  putrify  with  such  corruption.  The 
plague  is  mercy,  the  cholera  is  love,  the  deadliest  fever 
is  refreshment  to  man's  body,  in  comparison  with  this 
epitome  and  essence  of  moral  disease.  He  lives  among 
men.  Hell's  ambassador  with  full  credentials  ;  nor  can 
we  conceive  that  there  should  be  need  of  any  other 
fiend  to  perfect  the  works  of  darkness,  while  he  carries 
his  body  among  us,  stufled  with  every  pestilent  druo-  (^f 
corruption.  The  heart  of  every  virtuous  young  man 
should  loathe  him  ;  if  he  speaks,  you  should  as  soon  hear 
a  wolf  bark.  Gather  around  you  the  venomous  snake, 
the  poisonous  toad,  the  fetid  vulture,  the  ijrowling  hy- 
ena, and  their  company  would  be  an  honor  to  you  above 
his  ;  for  they  at  least  remain  within  their  own  nature  ; 
but  he  goes  out  of  his  nature  that  he  may  become  more 
])eastly  than  it  is  possible  for  a  mere  beast  to  be. 


92  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

He  is  liateful  to  religion,  hateful  to  virtue,  hateful  to 
decency,  hateful  to  the  coldest  morality.  The  stenchful 
iciior  of  his  dissolved  heart,  has  flowed  over  every  feel- 
ing of  his  nature,  and  left  them  as  the  burning  lava 
leaves  the  garden,  the  orchard,  and  the  vineyard.  And 
it  is  a  wonder  that  the  bolt  o£  God  which  crushed  Sod- 
om does  not  slay  him.  It  is  a  wonder  that  the  earth 
does  not  refuse  the  burden  and  open  and  swallow  him 
up.  1  do  not  fear  that  the  young  will  be  undermined 
by  his  direct  assaults.  But  some  will  imitate,  and  their 
example  will  be  again  feebly  imitated,  and  finally,  a 
remote  circle  of  disciples  will  spread  the  diluted  conta- 
gion among  the  virtuous.  This  man  will  be  the  foun- 
tain-head, and  though  none  will  come  to  drink  at  a  hot- 
spring,  yet  further  down  along  the  stream  it  sends  out, 
will  be  found  many  scooping  from  its  waters. 

Y.  I  have  described  the  devil  in  his  native  form,  but  he 
sometimes  appears  as  an  angel  of  light.  There  is  a  pol- 
ished Libertine,  in  manners  studiously  refined,  in  taste 
faultless  ;  his  face  is  mild  and  engaging ;  his  words  drop 
as  pure  as  newly  made  honey.  In  general  society,  he 
would  rather  attract  regard  as  a  model  of  purity,  and 
suspicion  herself  could  hardly  look  askance  upon  him. 
Under  this  brilliant  exterior  his  heart  is  like  a  sepulchre, 
full  of  all  uncleanness.  Contrasted  with  the  gross  liber- 
tine, it  would  not  be  supposed  that  he  had  a  thought  in 
common  with  him.  If  his  heart  could  be  opened  to  our 
eye,  as  it  is  to  God's,  we  should  perceive  scarcely  dis- 
similar feelings  in  respect  to  appetite.  Professing  un- 
bounded admiration  of  virtue  in  general,  he  leaves  not  in 
private  a  point  untransgressed.  His  reading  has  culled 
every  glowing  picture  of  am.orous  poets,  every  tempting 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  93 

scene  of  loose  dramatists,  and  looser  novelists.  Enriched 
by  these,  his  imagination,  like  a  rank  soil,  is  overgrown 
with  a  prodigal  luxuriance  of  poison-herbs  and  deadly 
flowers.  Men,  such  as  this  man  is,  frequently  aspire  to 
be  the  censors  of  morality.  They  are  hurt  at  the  inju- 
dicious reprehensions  of  vice  from  the  pulpit !  They 
make  great  outcry  when  plain  words  are  employed  to 
denounce  base  things.  They  are  astonishingly  sensitive 
and  fearful  lest  good  men  should  soil  their  hands  with 
too  much  meddling  with  evil.  Their  cries  are  not  the 
evidence  of  sensibility  to  virtue,  but  of  too  lively  a  sensi- 
bility to  vice.  Sensibility  is,  often,  only  the  flutter- 
ing of  an  impure  heart. 

At  the  very  time  that  their  voice  is  ringing  an  alarm 
against  immoral  reformations,  they  are  secretly  scepti- 
cal of  every  tenet  of  virtue,  and  practically  unfaithful  to 
every  one.  Of  these  two  libertines,  the  most  refined  is 
the  most  dangerous.  The  one  is  a  rattlesnake  which 
carries  its  warning  with  it ;  the  other,  hiding  his  bur- 
nished scales  in  the  grass,  skulks  to  perform  unsuspected 
deeds  in  darkness.  The  one  is  the  visible  fog  and  miasm 
of  the  morass ;  the  other  is  the  serene  air  of  a  tropical 
city,  which,  though  so  brilliant,  is  loaded  with  invisible 
pestilence. 

The  Politician.  If  there  be  a  man  on  earth  whose 
character  should  be  framed  of  the  most  sterling  honesty, 
and  whose  conduct  should  conform  to  the  most  scrupu- 
lous morality,  it  is  the  man  who  administers  public 
affairs.  The  most  romantic  notions  of  integrity  are 
here  not  extravagant.  As,  under  our  institutions,  pub- 
lic men  will  be,  upon  the  whole,  fair  exponents  of  the 
character   of    their   constituents,   the    plainest   way    to 


94  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

secure  honest  public  men,  is  to  inspire  those  wiio  make 
them,  with  a  right  understanding  of  what  political  char- 
acter ought  to  be.  Youn^  men  should  be  prompted  to 
discriminate  between  the  specious,  and  the  real  ;  the  art- 
ful, and  the  honest ;  the  wise,  and  the  cunning ;  the 
patriotic,  and  the  pretender.     I  will  sketch — 

VI.  The  Demagogue.  The  lowest  of  politicians  is 
that  man  who  seeks  to  gratify  an  invariable  selfishness 
by  pretending  to  seek  the  public  good.  For  a  pro- 
fitable popularity  he  accommodates  himself  to  all  opin- 
ions,  to  all  dispositions,  to  every  side,  and  to  each  preju- 
dice. He  is  a  mirror,  with  no  face  of  its  own,  but  a 
smooth  surface  from  which  each  man  of  ten  thousand 
may  see  himself  reflected.  He  glides  from  man  to  man 
coinciding  with  their  views,  pretending  their  feelings, 
simulating  their  tastes  ;  with  this  one,  he  hates  a  man  ; 
with  that  on€,  he  loves  the  same  man  ;  he  favors  a  law, 
and  he  dislikes  it ;  he  approves,  and  opposes  ;  he  is  on 
both  sides  at  once,  and  seemingly  wishes  that  lie  could 
be  on  one  side  more  than  both  sides.  He  attends  meet- 
ings to  suppress  intemperance, — but  at  elections  makes 
every  grog-shop  free  to  all  drinkers.  He  can  with  equal 
relish  plead  most  eloquently  for  temperance,  or  toss 
oir  a  dozen  glasses  in  a  dirty  grocery.  He  thinks  that 
there  is  a  time  for  every  thing,  and  therefore,  at  one 
time  he  swears  and  jeers  and  leers  witii  a  carousing 
crew ;  and  at  another  Hime,  having  happily  been  con- 
verted, he  displays  the  various  features  of  devotion. 
Indeed,  he  is  a  capacious  christian  ;  an  epitome  of  faith. 
He  piously  asks  the  class-leader  of  the  welfare  of  his 
charge,  for  he  was  always  a  Methodist  and  always  sliall 
be, — until  he  meets  a  Presbyterian  ;  then  he  is  a  Pres- 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  95 

byterian,  old-school  or  new,  as  the  case  requires.  How- 
ever, as  he  is  not  a  bigot,  he  can  afford  to  be  a  Baptist, 
in  a  good  Baptist  neighborhood,  and  with  a  wink  he  tells 
the  zealous  elder,  tl;at  he  never  had  one  of  his  children 
baptised,  not  he  !  He  whispers  to  the  Reformer  that  he 
abhors  all  creeds  but  Baptism  and  the  Bible.  After  all 
this,  room  will  be  found  in  his  heart  for  the  fugitive  sects 
also,  which  come  and  go  like  clouds  in  a  summer-sky. 
His  flattering  attention  at  church  edifies  the  simple- 
hearted  preacher,  who  admires  that  a  plain  sermon 
should  make  a  man  whisper  amen  !  and  weep  ;  or  at 
least  wipe  his  eyes  to  coax  a  tear.  Upon  the  stump  his 
tact  is  no  less  rare.  He  roars  and  bawls  with  coura- 
geous plainness,  on  points  about  which  all  agree  :  but 
on  subjects  where  men  differ,  his  meaning  is  nicely 
ballanced  on  a  pivot  that  it  may  dip  either  way.  He 
depends  for  success  chiefly  upon  humorous  stories.  A 
glowing  patriot  a-telling  stories  is  a  dangerous  antago- 
nist ;  for  it  is  hard  to  expose  the  fallacy  of  a  hearty 
laugh,  and  men  convulsed  with  merriment  are  slow  to 
jjerceive  in  what  way  an  argument  is  a  reply  to  a  story. 
Perseverance,  effrontery,  good  nature,  and  versatile 
cunning  have  advanced  many  a  bad  man  higher  than  a 
good  man  could  attain.  Men  will  admit  that  he  has  not 
a  single  moral  virtue  ;  but  he  is  smart.  Smart? — It  does 
not  occur  to  many,  that  there  is  much  difference  between 
men  and  game ;  or  that  offices  and  laws  are  much  more 
than  beaver-traps  ;  or  public  men  very  different  from 
smart  trappers.  We  object  to  no  man  for  amusing  him- 
self at  the  fertile  resources  of  the  politician  here  painted; 
for  sober  men  are  sometimes  pleased  with  the  grimaces 
and  mischievous  tricks  of  a  versatile  monkey  ;  but  would 


96  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

it  not  be  strange  indeed  if  tiiey  should  select  him  for  a 
ruler,  or  make  him  an  examplar  to  their  sons  ? 

VII.  I  describe  next  a  more  respectable  and  more  dan- 
gerous politician— the  Party  Man.  He  has  associated 
his  ambition,  his  interests,  and  his  aflections  with  a 
party.  His  very  self-love  is  love  of  party.  He  pre- 
fers, doubtless,  that  his  side  should  be  victorious  by 
the  best  means,  and  under  the  championship  of  good 
men ;  but  rather  than  lose  the  victory,  he  will  con- 
sent to  any  means,  and  follow  any  man.  Thus,  with 
a  general  desire  to  be  upright,  the  exigency  of  his 
party  constantly  pushes  him  to  dishonorable  deeds. 
He  opposes  fraud  by  craft ;  lie,  by  lie ;  slander,  by 
counter-aspersion.  To  be  sure  it  is  wrong  to  mis-state, 
to  distort,  to  suppress,  or  color  facts ;  it  is  wrong  to 
employ  the  evil  passions ;  to  set  class  against  class  ; 
the  poor  against  the  rich,  the  country  against  the 
city,  the  farmer  against  the  mechanic,  one  section 
against  another  section.  But  his  opponents  do  it,  and 
if  they  will  take  advantage  of  men's  corruption,  he  must, 
or  lose  by  his  virtue.  He  gradually  adopts  two  charac- 
ters, a  personal  and  a  political  character.  All  the  re- 
quisitions of  his  conscience  he  obeys  in  his  private  char- 
acter;  all  the  requisitions  of  his  party,  he  obeys  in  his 
political  conduct.  In  one  character,  he  is  a  man  of  prin- 
ciple ;  in  the  other,  a  man  of  mere  expedients.  As  a 
man  he  means  to  be  veracious,  honest,  moral ;  as  a  poli- 
tician^ he  is  deceitful,  cunning,  unscrupulous, — any  thing 
for  party.  As  a  man,  he  abhors  the  slimy  demagogue  ; 
as  a  politician,  he  employs  him  as  a  scavenger.  As  a 
man,  he  shrinks  from  the  flagitiousness  of  slander  ;  as  a 
politician,  he  permits  it,  smiles  upon  it  in  others,  rejoices 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  97 

in  the  success  gained  by  it.  As  a  man,  he  respects  no 
one  who  is  rotten  in  heart ;  as  a  politician,  no  man 
through  whom  victory  may  be  gained  can  be  too  bad. 
As  a  citizen,  he  is  an  apostle  of  temperance  ;  as  a  politi- 
cian, he  puts  his  shoulder  under  the  men  who  deluge 
their  track  with  whiskey,  marching  a  crew  of  brawling 
patriots,  pugnaciously  drunk,  to  exercise  the  freeman's 
noblest  franchise, — the  vote.  As  a  citizen,  he  is  consid- 
erate of  the  young,  and  counsels  them  with  admirable 
wisdom  ;  then,  as  a  politician,  he  votes  for  tools,  sup- 
porting for  the  magistracy  worshipful  aspirants  scraped 
from  the  ditch,  the  grogshop,  and  the  brothel ;  thus  say- 
ing by  deeds  which  the  young  are  quick  to  understand : 
"I  jested,  when  I  warned  you  of  bad  company;  for 
you  perceive  none  worse  than  those  whom  I  delight  to 
honor."  For  his  religion  he  will  give  up  all  his  secular 
interests  ;  but  for  his  politics  he  gives  up  even  his  reli- 
gion. He  adores  virtue,  and  rewards  vice.  Whilst 
bolstering  up  unrighteous  measures,  and  more  unrighte- 
ous men,  he  prays  for  the  advancement  of  religion,  and 
justice,  and  honor !  I  would  to  God  that  his  prayer 
might  be  answered  upon  his  own  political  head ;  for 
never  was  there  a  place  where  such  blessings  were 
more  needed  !  I  am  puzzled  to  know  what  will  happen 
at  death  to  this  politic  christian,  but  most  unchristian 
politician.  Will  both  of  his  characters  go  heavenward 
together  ?  If  the  strongest  prevails,  he  will  certainly 
go  to  hell.  If  his  weakest,  (which  is  his  christian  charac- 
ter,) is  saved,  what  will  become  of  his  political  character  ? 
Shall  he  be  sundered  in  two,  as  Solomon  proposed  to 
divide  the  contested  infant  ?  If  this  style  of  character 
were  not  flagitiously  wicked,  it  Vv'ould  still  be  supremely 
9 


98  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

ridiculous— but  it  is  both.  Let  young  men  mark  these 
amphibious  exemplars  to  avoid  their  influence.  The 
young  have  nothing  to  gain  from  those  who  are  saints  in 
religion  and  moi'als,  and  Machiavels  in  politics ;  who 
have  partitioned  oH'  their  heart,  invited  Christ  into  one 
half,  and  Belial  into  the  other.  He  who  does  not  act  by 
Justice,  right,  and  truth,  but  only  by  passion,  prejudice, 
interest,  and  selfishness,  is  a  robber  in  jirinciple,  if  circum- 
stances have  restrained  him  from  being  one  in  practice. 
Tlie  robber's  principles  are  only  dangerous  to  the  young 
when  adopted  by  moral  men,  and  baptized  into  the  name 
of  some  virtue. 

It  is  widely  said,  that  a  strictly  honest  man  who  de- 
sires purely  the  public  good,  who  will  not  criminally 
flatter  the  people,  nor  take  part  in  lies,  or  party-slander, 
nor  descend  to  the  arts  of  the  rat,  the  weasel,  and  the 
fox,  cannot  succeed  in  politics.  It  is  calmly  said  by 
thousands  that  one  cannot  be  a  politician  and  a  chris- 
tian. Indeed,  a  man  is  liable  to  downright  ridicule  if  he 
speaks  in  good  earnest  of  a  scrupulously  honest  and  reli- 
giously moral  politician.  I  regard  all  such  representa- 
tions as  false.  We  are  not  without  men  whose  career 
is  a  refutation  of  the  slander.  It  poisons  the  commu- 
nity to  teach  this  fatal  necessity  of  corruption  in  a 
course  which  so  many  must  pursue.  It  is  not  strange,  if 
such  be  the  popular  opinion,  that  young  men  include  the 
sacrifice  of  strict  integrity  as  a  necessary  element  of  a 
political  life,  and  calmly  agree  to  it,  as  to  an  inevitable 
misfortune,  rather  than  to  a  dark  and  voluntary  crime. 

Only  if  a  man  is  an  ignorant  heathen,  can  he  escape 
blame  for  such  a  decision  !  A  young  man,  at  this  day, 
in  this  land,  who  can  coolly  purpose  a  life  of  most  un- 


PORTRAIT       GALLERY.  99 

manly  guile,  who  ineans  to  earn  his  bread  and  fame 
by  a  sacrifice  of  integrity,  is  one  who  requires  only 
temptation  and  opportunity  to  become  a  felon.  What  a 
heart  has  that  man,  who  can  stand  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  Bible,  with  its  transcendent  truths  raising  their  glow- 
ing fronts  on  every  side  of  him,  and  feel  no  inspiration 
but  that  of  immorality  and  meanness!  He  knows  that 
for  him  have  been  founded  the  perpetual  institutions 
of  religion,  for  him  prophets  have  spoken,  miracles 
been  wrought,  heaven  robbed  of  its  Magistrate,  and 
the  earth  made  sacred  above  all  planets  as  the  Re- 
deemers burial-place, — he  knows  it  all,  and  plynges  from 
this  height  to  the  very  bottom  of  corruption  !  He  hears 
that  he  is  immortal,  and  despises  the  immortality ;  that 
he  is  a  son  of  God,  and  scorns  the  dignity ;  an  heir  of 
heaven,  and  infamously  sells  his  heirship,  and  himself,  for 
a  contemptible  mess  of  loathsome  pottage  !  Do  not  tell 
me  of  any  excuses.  It  is  a  shame  to  attempt  an  excuse  ! 
If  there  were  no  religion,  if  that  vast  sphere,  out  of 
which  glow  all  the  supereminent  truths  of  the  Bible,  was 
a  mere  emptiness  and  void,  yet,  methinks,  the  very  idea 
of  Fatherland,  the  exceeding  preciousness  of  the  Laws 
and  Liberties  of  a  great  people,  would  enkindle  such  a 
high  and  noble  enthusiasm,  that  all  baser  feelings  would  be 
consumed  !  But  if  the  love  of  country,  a  sense  of  char- 
acter, a  manly  regard  for  integrity,  the  example  of  our 
most  illustrious  men,  the  warnings  of  religion  and  all  its 
solicitations,  and  the  prospect  of  the  future, — dark  as 
Perdition  to  the  bad,  and  light  as  Paradise  to  the  good, — 
cannot  inspire  a  young  man  to  any  thing  higher  than  a 
sneaking,    truckling,    dodging    scramble    for   fraudulent 


100  PORTRAIT      GALLERY. 

lias  never  felt  one  sensation  of  manly  virtue  ; — it  is  be- 
cause his  heart  is  a  howling  wilderness,  inhospitable  to 
innocence,  but  a  lair  to  wild  beasts. 

Thus  have  I  sketched  a  few  of  the  characters  which 
abound  in  every  community  ;  dangerous,  not  more  by 
their  direct  temptations,  than  by  their  insensible  influ- 
ence. The  sight  of  their  deeds,  of  their  temporary  suc- 
cess, their  apparent  happiness,  relaxes  the  tense  rigidity 
of  a  scrupulous  honesty,  inspires  a  ruinous  liberality  of 
sentiment  toward  vice,  and  breeds  the  iJiovghts  of  evil ; 
and  EVIL  THOUGHTS  are  the  cockatrice's  eggs,  hatching 
into  all  bad  deeds. 

Remember,  if  by  any  of  these  you  are  enticed  to  ruin, 
you  will  have  to  bear  it  alone  !  They  are  strong  to 
seduce,  but  heartless  to  sustain  their  victims.  They  will 
exhaust  your  means,  teach  you  to  despise  the  God  of 
your  fathers,  lead  you  into  every  sin,  go  with  you  while 
vou  afibrd  them  any  pleasure  or  profit,  and  then,  when 
the  inevitable  disaster  of  wickedness  begins  to  over- 
whelm you,  they  will  abandon  whom  they  have  debauch- 
ed. When,  at  length,  death  gnaws  at  your  bones  and 
knocks  at  your  heart;  when  staggering,  and  worn  out, 
vour  courage  wasted,  your  hope  gone,  your  purity,  and 
long,  long  ago  your  peace — will  he  who  first  enticed 
vour  steps,  now^  serve  your  extremity  with  one  ofiice  of 
kindness  ?  Will  he  stay  your  head  ? — cheer  your  dying 
agony  with  One  word  of  hope  ? — or  light  the  way  for 
your  coward  steps  to  the  grave  ? — or  w^eep  when  you 
are  gone  ? — or  send  one  pitiful  scrap  to  your  desolate 
family  ?  What  reveller  wears  crape  for  a  dead  drunk- 
ard ? — what  gang  of  gamblers  ever  intermitted  a  game 
for  the  death  of  a  companion  1 — or  went  on  kind   mis- 


PORTRAIT      GALLERY.  101 

sions  of  relief  to  broken-down  fellow  gamblers  1  What 
liarlot  weeps  for  a  iiarlot  ? — what  debauchee  mourns  for 
a  debauchee  1  They  would  carouse  at  your  funeral,  and 
gamble  on  your  coffin.  If  one  flush  more  of  pleasure 
were  to  be  had  by  it,  they  would  drink  shame  and  ridi- 
cule to  your  memory  out  of  your  own  skull,  and  roar  in 
bacchanal-revelry  over  your  damnation  !  All  the  shame- 
less atrocities  of  wicked  men  are  nothing  to  their  heart- 
k'smess  toward  each  other  when  broken-down.  As  I 
l^ave  seen  worms  writhing  on  a  carcass,  overcrawling 
each  other,  and  elevating  their  fiery  heads  in  petty  fero- 
city against  each  other,  while  all  were  enshrined  in  the 
corruption  of  a  common  carrion, — I  have  thought,  ah  ! 
shameful  picture  of  wicked  men  tempting  each  other,  abet- 
ting each  other,  until  calamity  overtook  them,  and  then 
fighting  and  devouring  or  abandoning  each  other,  with- 
out pity,  or  sorrow,  or  compassion,  or  remorse.  Evil 
men  of  every  degree  will  use  you,  flatter  you,  lead  you 
on  until  you  are  useless;  then,  if  the  virtuous  do  not  pity 
you,  or  God  compassionate,  you  are  without  a  friend  in 
the  universe. 

My  S071,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not.  If  they 
say,  Come  with  us,  .  .  .  ive  shall  find  all  precious  sub- 
stance, we  shall  fill  our  houses  with  spoil:  Cast  in  thy  lot 
among  us;  let  us  all  have  one  purse:  My  son,  walk  not 
thou  in  the  way  with  them;  refrain  thy  feet  from  their 
path:  for  their  feet  run  to  evil,  and  make  haste  to  shed 
blood,  .  .  .  and  they  lay  in  ivait  for  their  own  blood, 
thetj  lurk  privily  for  their  own  lives. « 

a  Prov.  i.  10—10. 


LECTURE    V. 


Then  the  soldiers,  when  they  had  crucified  Jesus,  took  his  garments 
and  made  four  parts,  to  every  soldier  a  part,  and  also  his  coat.  Now 
the  coat  was  without  seam  woven  from  the  top  throughout.  They 
said  therefore  among  themselves,  Let  us  not  rend  it,  but  cast  lot's 
for  it,  whose  it  shall   be.     These  things  therefore    the  soldiers  did. 

I  HAVE  condensed  into  one  account  the  separate  parts 
of  this  gambling  transaction  as  narrated  by  each  evan- 
gelist. How  marked  in  every  age  is  a  Gambler's  charac- 
ter !  The  enraged  priesthood  of  ferocious  sects  taunted 
Christ's  dying  agonies  ;  the  bewildered  multitude,  accus- 
tomed to  cruelty,  could  shout ;  but  no  earthly  creature, 
but  a  Gambler,  could  be  so  lost  to  all  feeling  as  to  sit 
down  coolly  under  a  dying  man  to  wrangle  for  his  gar- 
ments, and  arbitrate  their  avaricious  differences  by  cast- 
ing dice  for  his  tunic,  with  hands  spotted  with  his  spat- 
tered blood,  warm  and  yet  undried  upon  them.  The 
descendants  of  these  patriarchs  of  gambling,  however, 
have  taught  us,  that  there  is  nothing  possible  to  hell, 
uncongenial  to  these,  its  elect  saints.  In  this  lecture  it 
is  my  disagreeable  task  to  lead  your  steps  down  the  dark 
path  to  their  cruel  haunts,  there  to  exhibit  their  infernal 
passions,  their  awful  ruin,  and   their  ghastly  memorials. 


104  GAMBLERS 

In  lliis  house  of  darkness  amid  fierce  faces  gleaming  with 
the  fire  of  fiercer  hearts,  amid  oaths  and  groans  and 
fiendish  orgies,  ending  in  murders  and  strewn  with  swel- 
tering corpses, — do  not  mistake,  and  suppose  yourself 
in  Hell — you  are  only  in  its  precincts  and  vestibule. 


Gambling  is  the  staking  or  winning  of  property  upon 
mere  hazard.  Tlie  husbandman  renders  produce  for 
his  gains  ;  the  mechanic  renders  the  product  of  labor 
and  skill  for  his  gains  ;  the  gambler  renders  for  his 
gain  the  sleights  of  useless  skill,  or  more  often,  down- 
right cheating.  Betting  is  gambling  ;  there  is  no  hon- 
est equivalent  to  its  gains.  Dealings  in  fancy-stocks 
are  oftentimes  sheer  gambling,  with  all  its  w^orst 
evils.  Profits  so  earned  are  no  better  than  the  profits  of 
dice,  cards,  or  hazard.  When  skill  returns  for  its  earn- 
ings a  useful  service,  as  knowledge,  beneficial  amuse- 
ments, or  profitable  labor,  it  is  honest  commerce. 
The  skill  of  a  pilot  in  threading  a  narrow  channel,  the 
skill  of  the  lawyer  in  threading  a  still  more  intricate 
one,  are  as  substantial  equivalents  for  a  price  received, 
as  if  they  were  merchant-goods  or  agricultural  products. 
But  all  gains  of  jnere  skill  which  result  in  no  real  benefit, 
are  gambling  gains. 

Gaming,  as  it  springs  from  a  principle  of  our  nature, 
has,  in  some  form,  probably  existed  in  every  age.  We 
trace  it  in  remote  periods  and  among  the  most  barbarous 
people.  It  loses  none  of  its  fliscinations  among  a  civilized 
people.     On  the  contrary,  the  habit  of  fierce  stimulants. 


AND      GAMBLING.  105 

the  jaded  appetite  of  luxury,  and  the  satiety  of  wealth, 
seem  to  invite  this  master-excitant.  Our  land,  not  apt 
to  be  behind  in  good  or  evil,  is  full  of  gambling  in  all  its 
forms — the  gambling  of  commerce,  the  gambling  of  bets 
and  wagers,  and  the  gambling  of  games  of  hazard. 
There  is  gambling  in  refined  circles,  and  in  the  low- 
est ;  among  the  members  of  our  national  government, 
and  of  our  state-governments.  Thief  gambles  with  thief, 
in  jail  ;  the  judge  who  sent  them  there,  the  lawyer  who 
prosecuted,  and  the  lawyer  who  defended  them,  gamble 
too.  In  many  circuits,  not  long  ago,  and  in  some  now, 
the  judge,  the  jury,  and  the  bar,  shuflled  cards  by  night, 
and  law  by  day — dealing  out  money  and  justice  alike. 
The  clatter  of  dice  and  cards  disturb  your  slumber  on 
the  boat,  and  ring  drowsily  from  the  upper  rooms  of 
the  hotel.  This  vice  pervades  the  city,  extends  over 
every  line  of  travel,  and  infests  the  most  moral  districts. 
The  secreted  lamp  dimly  lights  the  apprentices  to  their 
game  ;  with  unsuspected  disobedience,  boys  creep  out 
of  their  beds  to  it;  it  goes  on  in  the  store  close  by  the 
till  ;  it  haunts  the  shop.  The  scoundrel  in  his  lair,  the 
scholar  in  his  room  ;  the  pirate  on  his  ship,  gay  women 
at  parties  ;  loafers  in  the  street-corner,  public  functiona- 
ries in  their  offices ;  the  beggar  under  the  hedge,  the 
rascal  in  prison,  and  some  professors  of  religion  in  the 
somnolent  hours  of  the  Sabbath, — waste  their  energies 
by  the  ruinous  excitement  of  the  game.  Besides  these 
players,  there  are  troops  of  professional  gamblers,  troops 
of  hangers  on,  troops  of  youth  to  be  drawn  in.  An  m- 
experienced  eye  would  detect  in  our  peaceful  towns  no 
signs  of  this  vulture-flock  ; — so  in  a  sunny  day  when  all 
cheerful  birds  are   singing  merrily,  not  a  buzzard  can  be 


106  GAMBLERS 

seen  ;  but  let  a  carcass  drop,  and  they  will  push  forth 
their  gaunt  heads  from  their  gloomy  roosts,  and  come 
flapping  from  the  dark  woods  to  speck  the  air,  and  dot 
the  ground  with  their  numbers. 

The  universal  prevalence  of  this  vice  is  a  reason  for 
parental  vigilance  ;  and  a  reason  of  remonstrance  from 
the  citizen,  the  parent,  the  minister  of  the  gospel,  the 
patriot,  and  the  press.  I  propose  to  trace  its  opening, 
describe  its  subjects,  and  detail  its  ejects. 

A  young  man  proud  of  freedom,  anxious  to  exert  his 
manhood,  has  tumbled  his  Bible  and  sober  books  and 
letters  of  counsel  into  a  dark  closet.  He  has  learned 
various  accomplishments,  to  flirt,  to  boast,  to  swear,  to 
fight,  to  drink.  He  has  let  every  one  of  these  chains  be 
put  around  him,  upon  the  solemn  promise  of  Satan  that 
he  would  take  them  olV  whenever  he  wished.  Hearing 
of  the  artistic  feats  of  eminent  gambiers,  he  emulates 
them.  So,  he  ponders  the  game  ;  to-day,  he  has  learned 
I'-hist;  to-morrow,  iz-a^-;  Siiiuvday,  bluj' ;  and  Sunday, 
poker.  He  teaches  what  lie  has  learned  to  his  shop- 
mates,  and  feels  himself  their  master.  As  yet  he  has 
never  played  for  stakes.  It  begins  thus :  Peeping  into  a 
book-store,  he  watches  till  the  sober  customers  go  out ; 
then  slips  in,  and  with  assumed  boldness,  not  concealing 
his  shame,  he  asks  for  cards,  buys  them,  and  hastens  out. 
The  first  game  is  to  pay  for  the  cards.  After  the  relish 
of  playing  for  a  stake,  no  game  can  satisfy  them  xoiihout 
a  stake.  A  few  nuts  are  staked  ;  then  a  bottle  of  wine; 
an  oyster-supper.  At  last  they  can  venture  a  sixpence  in 
(/dual  money — just  for  the  amusement  of  it.  I  need  go  no 
fji-ther — whoever  wishes  to  do  any  thing  with  the  lad, 
can  do  it  now.     If  properly  plied,  and  gradually  led,  he  will 


A  N  D      G  A  M  E  L  I  N  G  .  107 

go  to  any  length,  and  stop  only  at  the  gallows.     Do  yoa 
doubt  it  ?  let  us  trace  him  a  year  or  two  further  on. 

With  his  fathers  blessing,  and  his  mother's  tears,  the 
young  man  departs  from  home.  He  has  received  his 
patrimony,  and  embarks  for  life  and  independence. 
Upon  his  journey  he  rests  at  a  city  ;  visits  the  'school 
of  morals  ;'  lingers  in  more  suspicious  places  ;  is  seen 
by  a  sharper,  and  makes  his  acquaintance.  The  knave 
sits  by  him  at  dinner  ;  gives  him  the  news  of  the  place, 
and  a  world  of  advice  ;  cautions  him  against  sharpers  ; 
enquires  if  he  has  money,  and  charges  him  to  keep  it 
secret;  offers  himself  to  make  with  him  the  rounds  of 
the  town,  and  secure  him  from  imposition.  At  length, 
that  he  may  see  all,  he  is  taken  to  a  gaming-house,  but, 
with  apparent  kindness,  warned  not  to  play.  He  stands 
by  to  see  the  various  fortunes  of  the  game  ;  some,  for- 
ever losing  ;  some,  touch  what  number  they  will,  gain- 
ing piles  of  gold.  Looking  is  thirst  where  wine  is 
free.  A  glass  is  taken  ;  another  of  a  better  kind  ;  next 
the  best  the  landlord  has,  and  two  glasses  of  that.  A 
change  comes  over  the  youth  ;  his  exhilaration  raises 
hisl  courage,  and  lulls  his  caution.  Gambling  seen^ 
seems  a  different  thing  from  gambling  paintec^  by  a 
pious  father !  Just  then  his  friend  remarks  that  one 
might  easily  double  his  money  by  a  few  ventures, 
but  that  it  was,  perhaps,  prudent  not  to  risk.  Only 
this  was  needed  to  fire  his  mind.  What !  only  pru- 
dence between  me  and  gain  ?  Then  that  shall  not 
be  long  !  He  stakes ;  he  wins.  Stakes  again ;  wins 
again.  Glorious  !  I  am  the  lucky  man  that  is  to  break 
the  bank !  He  stakes,  and  wins  again.  His  pulse 
races  ;  his  face  burns ;  his  blood   is  up,  and   fear  gone. 


108  GAMBLERS 

He  loses  ;  loses  again ;  loses  all  his  winnings ;  loses 
more.  But  fortune  turns  again  ;  he  wins  anew.  He 
has  now  lost  all  self-command.  Gains  excite  him,  and 
losses  excite  him  more.  He  doubles  his  stakes  ;  then 
trebles  them — and  all  is  swept.  He  rushes  on,  puts  up 
his  whole  purse,  and  loses  the  whole  !  Then  he  would 
borrow  ;  no  man  will  lend.  He  is  desperate,  he  will 
fio-ht  at  a  word.  He  is  led  to  the  street,  and  thrust  out. 
The  cool  breeze  which  blows  upon  his  fevered  cheek, 
wafts  the  slow  and  solemn  stroke  of  the  clock, — one, — 
tvvo, — three, — four;  four  of  the  morning!  Quick  work 
of  ruin  !— an  innocent  man  destroyed  in  a  night !  He 
stafTc^ers  to  his  Hotel,  remembers  as  he  enters  it,  that  he 
has  not  even  enough  to  pay  his  bill.  It  now  flashes 
upon  him  that  his  friend,  who  never  had  left  him  for  an 
hour  before,  has  stayed  behind  where  his  money  is,  and, 
doubtless,  is  laughing  over  his  spoils.  His  blood  boils 
with  rage.  But  at  length  comes  up  the  remembrance  of 
home  ;  a  parent's  training  and  counsels  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  destroyed  in  a  night !  "  I  have  gambled 
away  my  money  and  my  salvation  !  I  have  broken  my 
old  father's  heart !  Good  God  !  what  a  wretch  1  have 
been  !  I  am  not  fit  to  live.  1  cannot  go  home.  I  am 
a  stranger  here.  Oh  !  that  I  were  dead  !  Oh  !  that  I 
had  died  before  I  knew  this  guilt,  and  were  lying  where 
my  sister  lies  !  Oh  God  !  Oh  God  !  my  head  will  burst 
with  agony  !"  He  stalks  his  lonely  room  with  an  agony 
which  only  the  young  heart  knows  in  its  first  horrible 
awakening  to  remorse— when  it  looks  despair  full  in  the 
face,  and  feels  its  hideous  incantations  tempting  him 
to  suicide.  Subdued  at  length  by  agony,  cowed  and 
weakened  by  distress,  he  is  sought  again  by  those   who 


AND     GAMBLING.  109 

plucked  him.  Canning  to  subvert  inexperience,  to  raise 
the  evil  passions,  and  to  allny  the  good,  they  nnake  him 
their  pliant  tool. 

Farewell,  young  man  !  I  see  thy  steps  turned  to  that 
haunt  again  !  I  see  hope  lighting  thy  face  ;  but  it  is  a 
lurid  light,  and  never  came  from  heaven.  Stop  before 
that  threshold  ! — turn,  and  bid  farewell  to  home  ! — fare- 
well to  innocence  ! — farewell  to  venerable  lather  and 
aged  mother ! — the  next  step  shall  part  thee  from  them 
all  forever.  And  now  henceforth  be  a  mate  to  thieves, 
a  brother  to  corruption.  Thou  hast  made  a  league  with 
death,  and  unto  death  shalt  thou  go. 

Let  us  here  pause,  to  draw  the  likeness  of  a  few 
who  stand  conspicuous  in  that  vulgar  ci'owd  of  gam- 
blers, with  which  hereafter  he  will  consort.  The  first 
is  a  taciturn,  quiet  man.  No  one  knows  when  he 
comes  into  town,  or  when  he  leaves.  No  man  hears 
of  his  gaining ;  for  he  never  boasts,  nor  reports  his 
luck.  He  spends  little  for  parade ;  his  money  seems 
to  go  and  come  only  through  the  game.  He  re?ds 
none,  converses  none,  is  neither  a  glutton  nor  a  hard 
drinker  ;  he  sports  few  ornaments,  and  wears  plain  cloth- 
ing. Upon  the  whole,  he  seems  a  gentlemanly  man  ; 
and  sober  citizens  say,  "  his  only  fault  is  gambling." 
What  then  is  this  '''•only  fault?"'  In  his  heart  he  has 
the  most  intense  and  consuming  lust  of  play.  He  is 
quiet  because  every  passion  is  absorbed  in  one  ;  and 
that  one  burning  at  the  highest  flame.  He  thinks  of 
nothing  else,  cares  only  for  this.  All  other  things,  even 
the  hottest  lusts  of  other  men,  are  too  cool  to  be  temp- 
tations to  him  ;  so  much  deeper  is  the  style  of  his  pas- 
sion. He  will  sit  upon  his  chair,  and  no  man  shall  sec 
10 


110  GAJIBLERS 

liim  move  for  hours,  except  to  play  his  cards.  He  sees 
none  come  in,  none  go  out.  Death  might  groan  on  one 
side  of  the  room,  and  marriage  might  sport  on  the  other, 
— he  would  know  neither.  Every  created  influence  is 
shut  out  ;  one  thing  only  moves  him — the  game;  and 
that  leaves  not  one  pulse  of  excitability  unaroused,  but 
stirs  his  soul  to  the  very  dregs. 

Very  different  is  the  roistering  gamester.  He  bears 
a  jolly  face,  a  glistening  eye  something  watery  through 
watching  and  drink.  His  fingers  are  manacled  in  rings  ; 
his  bosom  glows  with  pearls  and  diamonds.  He  learns 
the  time  which  he  wastes  from  a  magnificent  watch  full 
gorgeously  carved,  (and  not  with  the  most  modest  scenes.) 
and  slung  around  his  neck  by  a  ponderous  golden  chain. 
His  dress  is  richer  than  the  richest  wear.  When  he  is 
in  luck,  you  may  count  his  coats  a  dozen,  his  vests  a 
score,  his  stocks  and  cravats  innumerable.  There  is 
not  so  splendid  a  fellow  to  be  seen  sweeping  through  the 
streets.  The  landlord  makes  him  welcome — he  will 
bear  a  full  bill.  The  tailor  smiles  like  May — he  will 
buy  half  his  shop.  Other  places  bid  him  welcome — he 
will  bear  large  stealings. 

Like  the  Judge,  he  makes  his  circuit,  but  not  for  jus- 
tice ;  like  the  Preacher,  he  has  his  appointments,  but  not 
for  instruction.  His  circuits  are  the  race-courses,  the 
crowded  capital,  days  of  general  convocation,  conven- 
tions, and  mass-gatherings.  He  will  flame  on  the  race- 
track, bet  his  thousands,  and  beat  the  ring  at  swearing 
oaths  vernacular,  imported,  simple,  or  compound.  The 
drinking-booth  smokes  when  he  draws  in  his  welcome 
suit.  Did  you  see  him  only  by  day,  flaming  in  apparel, 
jovial,  and   free-hearted  at    the    Restaurateur  or  Hotel, 


ANDGAMBLING.  Ill 

you  would  think  him  a  Prince  let  loose — a  cross  between 
Prince  Hal  and  FalslafI'. 

But  night  is  his  day.  These  are  mere  exercises,  and 
brief  prefaces  to  his  real  accomplishments.  He  is  a 
good  fellow,  who  dares  play  deeper;  he  is  wild  indeed, 
who  seems  wilder ;  and  he  is  keen  indeed,  who  is  shar- 
per than  he  is,  after  all  this  show  of  frankness.  No  one 
is  quicker,  slyer,  and  more  alert  at  a  game.  He  can 
shuffle  the  pack  till  an  honest  man  would  as  soon  think 
of  looking,  for  a  particular  drop  of  water  in  the  ocean, 
as  for  a  particular  card  in  any  particular  place.  Per- 
haps he  is  ignorant  which  is  at  the  top  and  which  at  the 
bottom  !  At  any  rate,  watch  him  closely,  or  you  will 
get  a  lean  hand  and  he  a  fat  one.  A  plain  man  would 
think  him  a  wizzard  or  the  devil.  When  he  touches  a 
pack  they  seem  alive,  and  acting  to  his  will  rather  than 
his  touch.  He  deals  them  like  lightning,  they  rain  like 
snow-flakes,  sometimes  one,  sometimes  two,  if  need  be 
four  and  five  together,  and  his  hand  hardly  moved.  If 
he  loses,  very  well,  he  laughs ;  if  he  gains,  he  only 
laughs  a  little  more.  Full  of  stories,  full  of  songs,  full 
of  wit,  full  of  roistering  spirit — yet  do  not  trespass  too 
much  upon  his  good  nature  with  insult !  All  this  out- 
side is  only  the  spotted  hide  which  covers  the  tiger. 
He  who  provokes  this  man,  shall  see  what  lightning  can 
break  out  of  a  summer-seeming  cloud  ! 

These  do  not  fairly  represent  the  race  of  gamblers, — 
conveying  too  favorable  an  impression.  Tiiere  is  one, 
often  met  on  Steam-boats,  travelling  solely  to  gamble. 
He  has  the  servants,  or  steward,  or  some  partner,  in 
league  with  him,  to  iieece  every  unwary  player  whom 
he    inveifjiles  to  a  game.     He   deals    falsely  ;    heats   his 


112  GAMBLERS 

dupe  to  madness  by  drink,  drinking  none  himself; 
watches  the  signals  of  liis  accomplice  telegraphing  his 
opponent's  hand ;  at  a  stray  look,  he  will  slip  your 
money  olf  and  steal  it.  To  cover  false  playing  or  to  get 
rid  of  paying  losses  ho  will  lie  fiercely,  and  swear  uproar- 
iously, and  break  up  the  play  to  fight  with  knife  or  pistol 
— first  scraping  the  table  of  every  penny.  When  the 
passengers  are  asleep,  he  surveys  the  luggage,  to  see 
what  may  be  worth  stealing  ;  he  pulls  a  watch  from 
under  the  pillow  of  one  sleeper ;  fumbles  in  the  pockets 
of  another ;  and  gathers  booty  throughout  the  cabin. 
Leaving  the  boat  before  morning,  he  appears  at  some 
village  hotel,  a  magnificent  gentleman,  a  polished  trav- 
eller, or  even  a  distinguished  nobleman  ! 

There  is  another  gambler,  cowardly,  sleek,  stealthy, 
humble,  mousing,  and  mean — a  simple  bloodsucker.  For 
money,  he  will  be  a  tool  to  other  gamblers  ;  steal  for 
them,  and  from  them  ;  he  plays  the  jackall,  and  searches 
victims  for  them,  humbly  satisfied  to  pick  the  bones 
aftervt^ard.  Thus,  (to  employ  his  own  language)  he  ropes 
in  the  inexperienced  young,  flatters  them,  teaches  them, 
inflames  their  passions,  purveys  to  their  appetites,  cheats 
them,  debauches  them,  draws  them  down  to  his  own 
level,  and  then  lords  it  over  them  in  malignant  mean- 
ness. Himself  impure,  he  plunges  others  into  lascivious- 
ness ;  and  with  a  train  of  reaking  satellites,  he  revolves 
a  few  years  in  the  orbit  of  the  game,  the  brothel,  and 
the  doctor's  shop  ;  then  sinks  and  dies :  the  world  is 
purer,  and  good  men  thank  God  that  he  is  gone. 

Beside  these,  time  would  fail  me  to  describe  the  inefl'a- 
ble  dignity  of  a  gambling  judge  ;  the  cautious,  phlegmatic 
lawyer,  gamblinjr  from  sheer  avarice  :  the  broken-down 


A  N  IJ      G  A  M  B  L  I  N  G  .  113 

and  cast-away  politician,  seeking  in  the  game  the  needed 
excitement,  and  a  fair  field  for  all  the  base  tricks  he  once 
played  oiT  as  a  patriot ;  the  pert,  sharp,  keen,  jockey- 
gambler  ;  the  soaked,  obese,  plethoric,  wheezing,  baccha- 
nal ;  and  a  crowd  of  ignoble  worthies,  wearing  all  the 
badges  and  titles  of  vice,  throughout  its  base   peerage. 

A  detail  of  the  e-vils  of  gambling  should  be  preceded 
by  an  illustration  of  that  constitution  of  mind  out  of 
which  they  mainly  spring — ■!  mean  its  KxcrrABinTY. 
The  body  is  not  stored  with  a  fixed  amount  of  strength, 
nor  the  mind  with  a  uniform  measure  of  excitement; 
but  both  are  capable,  by  stimulation,  of  expansion  of 
strength  or  feeling,  almost  without  limit.  Experience 
shows,  that  within  certain  bounds,  excitement  is  healthful 
and  necessary  ;  but  beyond  this  limit,  exhausting  and 
destructive.  Men  are  allowed  to  choose  between  mode- 
rate but  long-continued  excitement,  and  intense  but 
short-lived  excitement.  Too  generally  they  prefer  the 
latter.  To  gain  this  intense  thrill,  a  thousand  methods 
are  tried.  The  inebriate  obtains  it  by  drink  and  drugs  ; 
the  politician,  by  the  keen  interest  of  the  civil  cam- 
paign;  the  young,  by  amusements  which  violently  in- 
flame and  gratify  their  appetites.  When  once  this 
higher  flavor  of  stimulus  has  been  tasted,  all  that  is  less 
becomes  vapid  and  disgustful.  A  sailor  tries  to  live  on 
shore  ;  a  few  weeks  suffice.  To  be  sure,  there  is  no 
hardships,  or  cold,  or  suflering ;  but  neither  is  there  the 
strong  excitement  of  the  ocean,  the  gale,  the  storm,  and 
the  world  of  strange  sights.  The  politician  perceives  that 
his  private  affairs  are  deranged,  his  family  neglected,  his 
character  aspersed,  his  feelings  exacerbated.  When 
men  hear  him  confess  that  his  career  is  a  hideous  wak- 
10- 


114  GAMBLERS 

ing  dream,  the  race  vexatious,  and  the  end  vanity,  they 
wonder  that  he  clings  to  it  ;  but  he  knows  that  nothing 
but  the  fiery  wine  which  he  has  tasted  will  rouse  up  that 
intense  excitement,  now  become  necessary  to  his  hap- 
piness.    For  this  reason,  great  men  often  cling  to  public 
office  with  all  its  envy,  jealousy,  care,  toil,  hates,  compe- 
titions, and  unrequited  fidelity  ;  for  these  very  disgusts, 
and  the   perpetual  struggle,  strike  a  deeper  cord  of  ex- 
citement than  is  possible  to  the  gentler  touches  of  home, 
friendship,  and  love.     Here  too  is  the  key  to  the  real 
evil  of  promiscuous  novel-reading,  to  the  habit  of  reve- 
rie and  mental  romancing.     None  of  life's  common   du- 
ties can  excite  to  such  wild  pleasure  as  these  ;  and  they 
must  be  continued,  or  the  mind  reacts  into   the  lethargy 
of  fatigue  and  ennui.     It   is  upon  this  principle  that  men 
love  7Jai«  ;  suffering  is  painful  to  a  spectator;  but  in  trag- 
edies, at  public  executions,  at  pugilistic  combats,  at  cock- 
fightings,  horse-races,  bear-baitings,  bull-fights,  gladiato- 
rial shows,  it  excites  a  jaded  mind  as  nothing  else  can. 
A  tyrant  torments  for  the  same  reason  that  a  girl  reads 
her   tear-bedewed  romance,  or  an   inebriate    drinks    his 
dram.     No  longer  susceptible  even  to  inordinate  stimuli, 
actual    moans,  and   shrieks,  and   the    writhing  of  utter 
agony,  just   suffice   to   excite  his   worn   out    sense,  and 
inspire,  probably,  less  emotion   than   ordinary  men  have 
in  listening  to  a  tragedy  or  reading  a  bloody  novel. 

Gambling  is  founded  upon  the  very  worst  perversion 
of  this  powerful  element  of  our  nature.  It  heats  every 
.  part  of  the  mind  like  an  oven.  The  faculties  which  pro- 
duce calculation,  pride  of  skill,  of  superiority,  love  of 
gain,  hope,  fear,  jealousy,  hatred,  are  absorbed  in  the 
game,  and  exhilarated,   or   exacerbated   by   victory    or 


AND      GAMBLING.  115 

defeat.  These  passions  are,  doubtless,  excited  in  men 
by  the  daily  occurrences  of  life ;  but  then  they  are 
transient,  and  counteracted  by  a  thousand  grades  of 
emotion,  which  rise  and  fall  like  the  undulations  of  the 
sea.  But  in  gambling  there  is  no  intermission,  nor  coun- 
teraction. The  whole  mind  is  excited  to  the  utmost, 
and  concentrated  at  its  extreme  point  of  excitation  for 
hours  and  days,  with  the  additional  waste  of  sleepless 
nights,  profuse  drinking,  and  other  congenial  immorali- 
ties. Every  other  pursuit  becomes  tasteless ;  for  no 
ordinary  duty  has  in  it  a  stimulus  which  can  scorch  a 
mind  which  now  refuses  to  burn  without  blazing,  or  to 
feel  an  interest  which  is  not  intoxication.  The  victim 
of  excitement  is  like  a  mariner  who  ventures  into  the 
edge  of  a  whirlpool  for  a  motion  more  exhilarating  than 
plain  sailing.  He  is  unalarmed  during  the  first  few 
gyrations,  for  escape  is  easy.  But  each  turn  sweeps 
him  further  in  ;  the  power  augments,  the  speed  becomes 
terrific  as  he  rushes  toward  the  vortex,  all  escape  now- 
hopeless.  A  noble  ship  went  in  ;  it  is  spit  out  in  broken 
fragments,  splintered  spars,  crushed  masts,  and  cast  up 
for  many  a  rood  along  the  shore.  The  specific  evils  of 
gambling  may  now  be  almost  imagined. 

I.  It  diseases  the  mind,  unfiting  it  for  the  duties  of 
life.  Gamblers  are  seldom  industrious  men  in  any  useful 
vocation.  A  gambling  mechanic  finds  his  labor  less 
relishful  as  his  passion  for  play  increases.  lie  grows 
unsteady,  neglects  his  work,  becomes  unfaithful  to  prom- 
ises ;  what  he  performs  he  slights.  Little  jobs  seem 
little  enough  ;  he  desires  immense  contracts,  whose  un- 
certainty has  much  the  excitement  of  gambling — and  for 
the  best  of  reasons  ;  and  in  the  pursuit  of  great  and  sud- 


116  GAMBLERS 

den  profits,  by  wild  schemes,  he  stumbles  over  into  ruin, 
leaving  all  who  employed  or  trusted  him  in  the  rubbish 
of  his  speculations. 

A  gambling  lawyer,  neglecting  the  drudgery  of  his- 
profession,  will  court  .its  exciting  duties.  To  explore 
authorities,  compare  reason,  digest,  and  write, — this  is 
tiresome.  But  to  advocate,  to  engage  in  fiery  contests 
\vith  keen  opponents,  this  is  nearly  as  good  as  gambling. 
Many  a  ruined  client  has  cursed  the  law,  and  cursed  a 
stupid  jury,  and  cursed  every  body  for  his  irretrievable 
loss,  except  his  lawyer,  who  gambled  all  night  when  he 
should  have  prepared  the  case,  and  came  half  asleep  and 
debauched  into  court  in  the  morning  to  lose  a  good  case 
mismanaged,  and  snatched  from  his  gambling  hands  by 
the  art  of  sober  opponents. 

A  gambling  student,  if  such  a  thing  can  be,  withdraws 
from  thoughtful  authors  to  the  brilliant  and  spicy  ;  from 
the  pure  among  these,  to  the  sharp  and  ribald ;  from  all 
reading  about  depraved  life,  to  seeing ;  from  sight,  to  ex- 
perience. Gambling  vitiates  the  imagination,  corrupts  the 
tastes,  destroys  the  industry — for  no  man  will  drudge  for 
cents,  who  gambles  for  dollars  by  the  hundred ;  or  prac- 
tice a  piddling  economy,  while,  with  almost  equal  indiffer- 
ence, he  makes  or  loses  five  hundred  in  a  night. 

11.  For  a  like  reason,  it  destroys  all  domestic  habits 
and  affections.  Home  is  a  prison  to  an  inveterate  gam- 
bler ;  thiere  is  no  air  there  that  he  can  breathe.  For  a 
moment  he  may  sport  w^ith  his  children,  and  smile  upon 
iiis  wife  ;  but  his  heart,  its  strong  passions,  are  not 
there.  A  little  branch-rill  may  flow  through  the  family, 
but  the  deep  river  of  his  aflections  flows  away  from 
home.     On  the  issue  of  a  game,  Tacitus  narrates  that  the 


A  N  11      G  A  M  B  L  I  N  G  .  117 

ancient  Germans  would  stake  their  property,  their  wiv^es, 
their  children,  and  themselves.  What  less  than  this  is 
it,  wiien  a  man  will  stake  that  properly  which  is  to  give 
his  family  bread,  and  that  honor  which  gives  them  place 
and  rank  in  society  ? 

When  playing  becomes  desperate  gamblings  the  heart 
is  a  hearth  where  all  the  fires  of  gentle  feelings  have 
smouldered  to  ashes ;  and  a  thorough-paced  gamester 
could  rattle  dice  in  a  charnel-house,  and  wrangle  for  his 
stakes  amid  murder,  and  pocket  gold  dripping  with  the 
blood  of  his  own  kindred. 

III.  Gambling  is  the  parent  and  companion  of  every 
vice  which  pollutes  the  heart,  or  injures  society. 

It  is  a  practice  so  disallowed  among  Christians,  and  so 
excluded  by  mere  moralists,  and  so  hateful  to  industrious 
and  thriving  men,  that  those  who  practice  it  are  shut 
up  to  themselves  ;  unlike  lawful  pursuits,  it  is  not 
modified  or  restrained  by  collision  with  others.  Gam- 
blers herd  with  gamblers.  They  tempt  and  provoke 
each  other  to  all  evil,  without  aflbrding  one  restraint, 
and  without  providing  the  counterbalance  of  a  single 
virtuous  impulse.  They  are  like  snakes  coiling  among 
snakes,  poison  and  poisoning  ;  like  plague-patients,  in- 
fected and  diftusing  infection  ;  each  sick,  and  all  conta- 
gious. It  is  impossible  to  put  bad  men  together  and  not 
have  them  grow  worse.  The  herding  of  convicts  pro- 
miscuously, produced  such  a  fermentation  of  depravity, 
that,  long  ago,  legislators  forbad  it.  When  criminals,  out 
of  jail,  herd  together  by  choice,  the  same  corrupt  nature 
will  doom  them  to  growing  loathsomeness,  because  to 
increasing  wickedness. 

IV.  It  is  a  provocative  of  thirst.     The   bottle   is  al- 


118  GAMBLERS 

most  as  needful  as  the  card,  the  ball,  or  the  dice.  Some 
are  seduced  to  drink  ;  some  drink  from  imitation,  at  first, 
and  fashion.  When  super-excitements,  at  intervals,  sub- 
side, their  victim  cannot  bear  the  deathlike  gloom  of  the 
reaction  ;  and,  by  drugs  or  liquor,  wind  up  their  system 
to  the  glowing  point  again.  Therefore,  drinking  is  the  in- 
variable concomitant  of  the  theatre,  circus,  race-course, 
gaming-table  ;  and  of  amusements  which  powerfully  ex- 
cite all  but  the  moral  feelings.  When  the  double  fire  of 
dice  and  brandy  blaze  under  a  man,  he  will  soon  be  con- 
sumed. If  men  are  found  who  do  not  drink,  they  are 
the  more  noticeable  because  exceptions. 

V.  It  is,  even  in  its  fairest  form,  the  almost  inevita- 
ble cause  of  dishonedy.  Robbers  have  robbers'  honor  ; 
thieves  have  thieves'  law  ;  and  pirates  conform  to  pirates' 
regulations.  But  where  is  there  a  gam.bler's  code?  One 
law  there  is,  and  this  not  universal,  j>ay  your  gamhling 
debts.  But  on  the  wide  question,  how  is  it  fair  to  win — 
what  law  is  there  ?  What  will  shut  a  man  out  from  a 
gambler's  club  ?  May  he  not  discover  his  opponent's 
hand  by  fraud  ?  May  not  a  concealed  thread,  pulling 
the  significant  one; — one,  tico; — or  one,  two,  three;  or  the 
sign  of  a  bribed  servant  or  waiter,  inforni  him,  and  yet 
his  standing  be  fair  ?  May  he  not  cheat  in  shuHling,  and 
yet  be  in  full  orders  and  canonical? — may  he  not  cheat 
in  dealing,  and  yet  be  a  welcome  gambler  ? — may  he 
not  steal  the  money  from  your  pile  by  laying  his  hands 
upon  it,  just  as  any  other  thief  would,  and  yet  be  an 
approved  gambler?  JMay  not  the  whole  code  be  stated 
thus :  Pay  ivhat  you  lose,  get  what  you  can,  and  in  any 
icay  you  can  !  I  am  told,  perhaps,  that  there  are  honest 
gamblers,  gentlemanly  gamblers.     Certainly  ;  there  are 


A  X  n      GAM] 


119 


always  ripe  apples  before  t'lere  are  rotten.  Men  al- 
ways begin  before  they  end;  there  is  always  an  approxi- 
mation before  tliere  is  contact.  Players  will  play  truly 
till  they  get  used  to  playing  untruly  ;  will  be  honest,  till 
they  cheat;  will  be  honorable,  till  they  become  base; 
and  when  you  have  said  all  this,  what  does  it  amount  to 
but  this,  that  men  who  7-eaUy  gamble,  really  cheat ;  and 
that  they  only  do  not  cheat,  who  are  not  yet  real  gam- 
blers ?  If  this  mends  the  matter,  let  it  be  so  amended.  I 
have  spoken  of  gamesters  only  among  themselves ;  this 
is  the  least  part  of  the  evil ;  for  who  is  concerned  when 
lions  destroy  bears,  or  wolves  devour  wolf-cubs,  or 
snakes  sting  vipers  ?  In  respect  to  that  department  of 
gambling  which  includes  the  roping-in  of  strangers, 
young  men,  collecting-clerks,  and  unsuspecting  green- 
hands,  and  robbing  them,  I  have  no  language  strong 
enough  to  mark  down  its  turpitude,  its  infernal  rapacity. 
After  hearing  many  of  the  scenes  not  unfamiliar  to 
every  gambler,  I  think  Satan  might  be  proud  of  their 
dealings,  and  look  up  to  them  with  that  deferential  res- 
pect, with  which  one  monster  gazes  upon  a  superior. 
There  is  not  even  the  expectation  of  honesty.  Some 
scullion-herald  of  iniquity  decoys  the  unwary  wretch 
into  the  secret  room  ;  he  is  tempted  to  drink ;  made  con- 
fident by  the  specious  simplicity  of  the  game  ;  allowed  to 
win;  and  every  bait  and  lure  and  blind  is  employed — 
then  he  is  plucked  to  the  skin  by  tricks  which  appear  as 
fair  as  honesty  itself.  The  robber  avows  his  deed,  does 
it  openly  ;  the  gambler  sneaks  to  the  same  result  under 
skulking  pretences.  There  is  a  frank  way,  and  a  mean 
way  of  doing  a  wicked  thing.  The  gambler  takes 
the  meanest  way   of  doing  the  dirtiest  deed.     The  vie- 


120  GAMBLERS 

tim's  own  partner  is  sucking  his  blood  ;  it  is  a  league  ot" 
sharpers,  to  get  iiis  money  at  any  rate  ;  and  the  wicked- 
ness is  so  unblushing  and  unmitigated,  that  it  gives,  at 
last,  an  instance  of  what  the  deceiti'ul  human  heart, 
knavish  as  it  is,  is  ashamed  to  try  to  cover  or  conceal  ; 
but  confesses  with  helpless  honesty,  that  it  is  fraud, 
cheating,  stealing,  robbery,— -and  nothing  else. 

If  I  walk  the  dark  street,  and  a  perishing,  hungry 
wretch  meets  me  and  bears  off  my  purse  with  but  a  sin- 
gle dollar,  the  whole  town  awakes  ;  the  officers  are  alert, 
the  myrmidons  of  the  law  scout,  and  scent,  and  hunt, 
and  bring  in  the  trembling  culprit  to  stow  him  in  the 
jail.  But  a  worse  thief  may  meet  me,  decoy  my  steps, 
and  by  a  greater  dishonesty,  filch  ten  thousand  dollars, — 
and  what  then  ?  The  story  spreads,  the  sharpers  move 
abroad  unharmed,  no  one  stirs.  It  is  the  day's  conver- 
sation ;  and  like  a  sound  it  rolls  to  the  distance,  and  dies 
in  an  echo. 

Shall  such  astounding  iniquities  be  vomited  out  amidst 
us,  and  no  man  care  ?  Do  we  love  our  children,  and  yet 
let  them  walk  in  a  den  of  vipers  ?  Shall  we  pretend  to 
virtue,  and  purity,  and  religion,  and  yet  make  partners 
of  our  social  life,  men  whose  heart  has  conceived  such 
damnable  deeds,  and  whose  hands  have  performed  them  ? 
Shall  there  be  even  in  the  eye  of  religion,  no  difference 
between  the  corruptor  of  youth  and  their  guardian  ? 
Are  all  the  lines  and  marks  of  morality  so  effaced,  is  the 
nerve  and  courage  of  virtue  so  quailed  by  the  frequency 
and  boldness  of  flagitious  crimes,  that  men,  covered 
over  with  wickedness,  shall  find  their  iniquity  no  obstacle 
to  their  advancement  among  a  Christian  people  ? 

In  almost  every  form  of  iniquity   there  is  some  shade 


AND      GAMBLING.  121 

or  trace  of  good.  We  have  in  gambling  a  crime  stand- 
ing alone — dark,  malignant,  uncompounded  wickedness  ! 
It  seems  in  its  full  growth  a  monster  without  a  ten- 
der mercy,  devouring  its  own  ofispring  without  one 
feeling  but  appetite.  If  the  genius  of  gambling  would 
have  a  form,  God  must  create  it ;  for  there  is  no  form 
yet  fitly  created  unless  it  be  a  rock, — cold,  hard,  barren, 
unsoftened  by  rain,  unrelieved  by  verdure.  A  game- 
ster, as  such,  is  the  cool,  calculating,  essential  sj)i7^ii  of  con- 
centrated avaricious  selfishness.  His  intellect  is  a  living 
thing,  quickened  with  double  life  for  villainy  ;  his  heart  is 
steel  of  fourfold  temper.  When  a  man  begins  to  gamble 
he  is  as  a  noble  tree  full  of  sap,  green  with  leaves,  a 
shade  to  beasts,  and  a  covert  to  birds.  When  one  be- 
comes a  thorough  gambler,  he  is  like  that  tree  lightning- 
smitten,  rotten  in  root,  dry  in  branch,  and  sapless  ; 
-seasoned  hard  and  tough ;  nothing  lives  beneath  it, 
nothing  on  its  branches,  unless  a  hawk  or  a  vulture 
perches  for  a  moment  to  whet  its  becik,  and  fly  scream- 
ing away  for  its  prey. 

To  every  young  man  who  indulges  in  the  leas't  form 
of  gambling,  I  raise  a  warning  voice !  Under  the  spe- 
cious name  of  amusement,  you  are  laying  the  foundation 
of  gambling.  Playing  is  the  seed  which  comes  up  gam- 
bling. It  is  the  light  wind  which  brings  up  the  storm. 
It  is  the  white  frost  which  preludes  the  winter.  You 
are  mistaken,  however,  in  supposing  that  it  is  harmless 
in  its  earliest  beginnings.  Its  terrible  blight  belongs, 
doubtless,  to  a  later  stage  ;  but  its  consumption  of  time, 
its  destruction  of  industry,  its  distaste  for  the  calmer 
pleasures  of  life,  belong  to  the  very  beginning.  You 
will  begin  to  play  with  every  generous  feeling.  Amuse- 
11 


122  GAMBLERS 

ment  will  be  the  plea.  At  the  beginning  the  game  will 
excite  enthusiasm,  pride  of  skill,  the  love  of  mastery,  and 
the  love  of  money.  The  love  of  money  at  first  almost 
imperceptible,  at  last  will  rule  out  all  the  rest — like 
Aaron's  rod, — a  serpent,  swallowing  every  other  ser- 
pent. Generosity,  enthusiasm,  pride  of  skill,  love  of 
mastery,  will  be  absorbed  in  one  mighty  feeling, — the 
savage  lust  of  lucre. 

There  is  a  downward   climax  in  this  sin.     The   open- 
ing and  ending  are  fatally  connected,  and  drawn  toward 
each  other  with  almost  irresistable  attraction.     If  gam- 
bling is  a  vortex,  playing  is  the   outer  ring  of  the  Mael- 
strom.    The  thousand  pcmnd's  stake,  the  whole  estate 
put  up  on  a  game — what  are  these  but  the  instruments 
of  kindling  that  tremendous  excitement  which  a  diseased 
heart  craves  ?     What  is  the  amusancnt  for  which  you 
play  but  the  excitement  of  the  game  ?     And  for  what  but 
this  does  the  jaded  gambler  play  ?     You  differ  from  him 
only  in  the  degree  of  the  same  feeling.     Do  not  solace 
yourself  that  you  shall  escape  because  others  have ;  for 
they  stopped^  and  ijou  go  on.     Are  you  as  safe  as  they,  when 
you  are  in  the  gulf-stream  of  perdition,  and  they  on  the 
shore?     But  have  you  ever  asked,  hnw  many  have  escap- 
ed ?     Not  one  in  a  thousand  is  left  unblighted  !  you  have 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  chances  against  you,  and 
one  for  you  ;  and  will  you  go  on  ?     If  a  disease  should 
stalk  through   the   town   devouring  whole    families    and 
sparing  not   one  in  five  hundred,  would  you  lie  down 
under  it  quietly  because  you  had  one  chance  in  five  hun- 
dred ?     Had  a  scorpion   stung  you,    would   it   alleviate 
your  pangs  to  reflect  that  you  had  only  one  chance  in 
one  hundred  1     Had    you  swallowed   corrosive    poison. 


AND      GAMBLING.  123 

would  it  ease  your  convulsions  to  think  there  was  only 
one  chance  in  fifty  for  you  ?  I  do  not  call  every  man 
who  plays  a  gambler,  but  a  ganibler  in  embryo.  Let  me 
trace  your  course  from  the  amusement  of  innocent  play- 
ing to  its  almost  inevitable  end. 

Scene  Jirst.  A  genteel  coiTee-house, — whose  humane 
screen  conceals  a  line  of  grenadier-bottles,  and  hides 
respectable  blushes  from  impertinent  eyes.  There  is  a 
quiet  little  room  opening  out  of  the  bar ;  and  here  sit 
four  jovial  youths.  The  cards  are  out,  the  wines  are  in. 
The  fourth,  is  a  reluctant  hand  ;  he  does  not  love  the 
drink,  nor  approve  the  game.  He  anticipates  and  fears 
the  results  of  both.  Why  is  he  here  ?  He  is  a  whole- 
souled  fellow,  and  is  afraid  to  seem  ashamed  of  any  fash- 
ionable gaiety.  He  will  sip  upon  the  importunity  of  a 
friend  newly  come  to  town,  and  is  too  polite  to  spoil 
that  friend's  pleasure  by  refusing  a  part  in  the  game. 
They  sit,  shuffle,  deal  ;  the  night  wears  on,  the  clock 
telling  no  tale  of  passing  hours — the  prudent  liquor-fiend 
has  made  it  safely  dumb.  The  night  is  gettmg  old  ;  its 
dank  air  grows  fresher  ;  the  east  is  grey  ;  the  gaming 
and  drinking  and  hilarious  laughter  are  over,  and  the 
youths  wending  homeward.  What  says  conscience? 
No  matter  what  it  says  ;  they  did  not  hear,  and  we  will 
not ;  for  what  business  has  a  dashing  young  gentleman, 
in  this  free  country,  with  a  prudish  conscience  ?  What- 
ever was  said,  it  was  very  shortly  answered  thus  :  "  This 
has  not  been  gambling;  all  were  gentlemen  ;  there  was 
no  cheating;  simply  a  convivial  evening;  no  stakes 
except  the  bills  incident  to  the  entertainment.  If  any 
body  blames  a  young  man  for  a  little  innocent  exhilara- 
tion   on  a  special  occasion,  he  is  a  superstitious   bigot ; 


1  21  GAMBLERS 

let  him  croak  !"  Such  a  garnished  game  is  made  the 
text  to  justify  the  whole  round  of  gambling.  Let  us, 
then,  look  at 

Scene  the  second.  In  a  room  so  silent  that  there  is  no 
sound  except  the  shrill  cock  crowing  the  morning; 
where  the  forgotten  candles  burn  dimly  over  the  long 
and  lengthening  wick,  sit  four  men.  Carved  marble  could 
not  be  more  motionless,  save  their  hands.  Pale,  watch- 
ful though  weary,  their  eyes  pierce  the  cards,  or  furtively 
read  each  others  faces.  Hours  have  passed  over  them 
thus.  At  length  they  rise  without  words  ;  some  with  a 
satisfoction  which  only  makes  their  faces  brightly  hag- 
gard, scrape  ofl'  the  piles  of  money ;  others,  dark,  sullen, 
silent,  fierce,  move  away  from  their  lost  money.  The 
darkest  and  fiercest  of  the  four  is  that  young  friend  who 
first  sat  down  to  make  out  a  game  !  He  will  never  sit 
so  innocently  again.  What  says  he  to  his  conscience 
now  ?  "I  have  a  right  to  gamble  ;  I  have  a  right  to  be 
damned  too,  if  I  choose  ;  whose  business  is  it  ?" 

Scene  the  thinh  Years  have  passed  on.  He  has  seen 
youth  ruined  at  first  with  expostulation,  then  with  only 
silent  regret,  then  consenting  to  take  part  of  the  spoils  ; 
and  finally,  he  has  himself  decoyed,  duped,  and  stripped 
them  without  mercy.  Go  with  me  into  that  dilapidated 
house,  not  far  from  the  landing,  at  New  Orleans.  Look 
into  that  dirty  room.  Around  a  broken  table,  sitting 
upon  boxes,  kegs,  or  rickety  chairs,  see  a  filthy  crew- 
dealing  cards  smoutched  with  tobacco,  grease  and  liquor. 
One  has  a  pirate-face  burnished  and  burnt  with  brandy  ; 
a  shock  of  grizzly,  matted  hair,  half  covering  his  villain 
eyes  which  glare  out  like  a  wild  beast's  from  a  thicket. 
Close   by  him  wheezes  a  white-faced,  dropsical  wretch, 


A  N  D      G  A  M  B  L  1  N  G  .  125 

vermin-covered,  and  stenchful.  A  scoundrel-Spaniard, 
and  a  hurley  negro,  (the  jolliest  of  the  four,)  complete  the 
group.  They  have  spectators — drunken  sailors,  and 
ogling,  thieving,  drinking  women,  who  should  have  died 
long  ago,  when  all  that  was  womanly  died.  Here  hour 
draws  on  hour,  sometimes  with  brutal  laughter,  some- 
times with  threat,  and  oath,  and  uproar.  The  last  few 
stolen  dollars  lost,  and  temper  too,  each  charges  each 
with  cheating,  and  high  words  ensue,  and  blows ;  and 
the  whole  gang  burst  out  the  door,  beating,  biting, 
scratching,  and  rolling  over  and  over  in  the  dirt  and 
dust.  The  worst,  the  fiercest,  the  drunkest,  of  the  four 
is  our  friend  who  began  by  making  up  the  game  ! 

Scene  the  fourth.  Upon  this  bright  day,  stand  with  me, 
if  you  would  be  sick  of  humanity,  and  look  over  that  mul- 
titude of  men  kindly  gathered  to  see  a  murderer  hung ! 
At  last,  a  guarded  cart  drags  on  a  thrice-guarded  wretch. 
At  the  gallow's  ladder  his  courage  fails,  drunk  though  he 
be.  His  coward-feet  refuse  to  ascend  :  dragged  up,  he 
is  supported  by  bustling  officials  ;  his  brain  reels,  his  eye 
swims,  while  the  meek  Minister  utters  a  final  prayer  by 
his  leaden  ear.  The  prayer  is  said,  the  noose  is  fixed, 
the  signal  is  given  ;  a  shudder  runs  through  the  crowd 
as  he  swings  free.  After  a  moment,  his  convulsed  limbs 
stretch  down,  and  hang  heavily  and  still  ;  and  he  who 
began  to  gamble  to  make  up  a  game  and  ended  with 
stabbing  an  eni'aged  victim  whom  he  had  fleeced,  has 
here  played  his  last  game, — himself  the  stake  ! 

I  feel  impelled,  in  closing,  to  call  the  attention  of  all 
sober  citizens  to  some  potent  influences  which  are  ex- 
erted in  favor  of  gambling. 

In  our  civil  economy  we  have  Legislators  to  devise 
11* 


126  GAMBLF.  RS 

and  enact  wholesome  laws  ;  Lawyers  to  counsel  and  aid 
those  who  need  the  laws'  relief;  and  Judges  to  deter- 
mine and  administer  the  laws.  If  Legislators,  Lawyers, 
and  Judges,  are  gamblers,  with  what  hope  do  we  warn 
otF  the  young  from  this  deadly  fascination,  against  such 
authoritative  examples  of  high  public  functionaries  ? 
With  what  eminent  fitness  does  that  Judge  press  the 
bench,  who  in  private  commits  the  vices  which  offi- 
cially he  is  set  to  condemn !  With  what  singular 
terrors  does  he  frown  on  a  convicted  gambler  with 
whom  he  played  last  night,  and  will  play  again  to-night ! 
How  wisely  should  the  fine  be  light  which  the  sprightly 
criminal  will  win  and  pay  out  of  the  Judge's  own  pocket ! 

With  the  name  of  Judge  is  associated  ideas  of  immac- 
ulate purity,  sober  piety,  and  fearless,  favorless  justice. 
Let  ii  then  be  counted  a  dark  crime  for  a  recreant  offi- 
cial so  far  to  forget  his  reverend  place,  and  noble  office, 
as  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  filthy  vices,  and  make  the  word 
Judge,  to  suggest  an  incontinent  trifler,  who  smites  with 
his  mouth,  and  smirks  with  his  eye  ;  who  holds  the  rod 
to  strike  the  criminal,  and  smites  only  the  law  to  make 
a  gap  for  criminals  to  pass  through  !  If  God  loves  this 
land,  may  he  save  it  from  truckling,  drinking,  swearing, 
gambling,  vicious  Judges  !  * 

With  such  Judges  I  must  associate  corrupt  legisla- 
tors, whose  bawling  patriotism  leaks  out  in  all  the  sinks 
of  infamy  of  the  Capital.  These  living  exemplars  of 
vice,  pass  still-born  laws  against   vice.     Are  such  men 

^The  general  eminent  integrity  of  the  Bench  is  unquestiona'ole — 
and  no  remari<8  in  the  text  are  to  be  construed  as  an  oblique  aspersion 
of  the  profession.  But  the  purer  our  Judges  generally,  the  more 
shameless  is  it  that  some  will  not  abandon  either  their  vices  or  their 
office.     No  vice  is  worse  than  gambling. 


AND      GAMBLING, 


127 


sent  to  the  Capital  only  to  practice  debauchery  1  Labo- 
rious seedsmen — they  gather  every  germ  of  evil  ;  and 
laborious  sowers — at  home  they  strew  them  far  and 
wide  !  It  is  a  burning  shame,  a  high  outrage,  that  pub- 
lic men,  by  corrupting  the  young  with  the  example  of 
manifold  vices,  should  pay  back  their  constituents  for 
their  honors  ! 

Our  land  has  little  to  fear  from  abroad,  and  much  from 
within.  We  can  bear  foreign  aggression,  scarcity,  the 
revulsions  of  commerce,  plagues,  and  pestilences ;  but 
we  cannot  bear  vicious  Judges,  corrupt  Courts,  gambling 
Legislators,  and  a  vicious,  corrupt,  and  gambling  con- 
stituency. Let  us  not  be  deceived  !  The  decay  of  civil 
institutions  begins  at  the  core.  The  outside  wears  all 
the  lovely  hues  of  ripeness,  when  the  inside  is  rotting. 
DecUne  does  not  begin  in  bold  and  startling  acts ;  but, 
as  in  autumnal  leaves,  in  rich  and  glowing  colors.  Over 
diseased  vitals,  consumptive  laws  wear  the  hectic  blush, 
a  brilliant  eye,  and  transparent  skin.  Could  the  public 
sentiment  declare  that  personal  morality,  is  the  first  ele- 
ment of  patriotism;  that  corrupt  Legislators  are  the  most 
pernicious  of  criminals  ;  that  the  Judge  who  lets  the  vil- 
lain off,  is  that  villain's  patron;  that  tolerance  of  crime  is 
intolerance  of  virtue, — our  nation  might  defy  all  ene- 
mies and  live  forever  ! 

And  now,  my  young  friends,  I  beseecii  you  to  let  alone 
this  evil  before  it  be  meddled  with.  You  are  safe  from 
vice  when  you  avoid  even  its  appearance ;  and  only 
then.  The  first  steps  to  wickedness  are  imperceptible. 
We  do  not  wonder  at  the  inexperience  of  Adam  ;  but  it 
is  wonderful  that  six  thousand  years'  repetition  of  the 
same  arts,  and   the   same  uniform  disaster  should  have 


128  GAMBLERS 

taught  men  nothing!  that  generation  after  generation 
should  perish,  and  the  wreck  be  no  warning  ! 

The  mariner  searches  his  chart  for  hidden  rocks, 
stands  oir  from  perilous  shoals,  and  steers  wide  of  reefs 
on  which  liang  shattered  morsels  of  wrecked  ships,  and 
runs  in  upon  dangerous  shores  with  the  ship  manned, 
the  wheel  in  hand,  and  the  lead  constantly  sounding. 
But  the  mariner  upon  life's  sea,  carries  no  chart  of  other 
men's  voyages,  drives  before  every  wind  that  will  speed 
him,  draws  upon  horrid  shores  with  slumbering  crew, 
or  heads  in  upon  roaring  reefs  as  though  he  would  not 
perish  where  thousands  have  perished  before  him. 

Hell  is  populated  with  the  victims  of  '■^harmkss  amuse- 
7?ic7its:'  Will  man  never  learn  that  the  way  to  hell  is 
through  the  valley  of  deceit  ?  The  power  of  Satan  to 
hold  his  victims  is  nothing  to  that  mastery  of  art  by 
which  he  first  gains  them.  When  he  approaches  to 
charm  us,  it  is  not  as  a  grim  fiend,  gleaming  from  a  lurid 
cloud,  but  as  an  angel  of  light  radiant  with  innocence. 
His  words  fidl  like  dew  upon  the  flower;  as  musical  as 
the  chrystal-drop  warbling  from  a  fountain.  Beguiled 
by  his  art,  he  leads  you  to  the  enchanted  grounds.  Oh 
how  it  glows  with  every  refulgent  hue  of  Heaven  ! 
Afar  off  he  marks  the  dismal  gulf  of  vice  and  crime  ;  its 
smoke  of  torment  slowly  rising,  and  rising  forever  !  and 
he  himself  cunningly  warns  you  of  its  dread  disaster,  for 
the  very  purpose  of  blinding  and  drawing  you  thither. 
He  leads  you  to  captivity  through  all  the  bowers  of  lull- 
ing magic.  He  plants  your  foot  on  odorous  flowers  ;  he 
fans  your  cheek  with  balmy  breath  ;  he  overhangs  your 
head  with  rosy  clouds  ;  he  fills  your  ear  with  distant, 
drowsy  music,  charming  every  sense   to  rest.     Oh   ye  ! 


AND      GAMBLING. 


129 


who  have  thought  the  way  to  hell  was  bleak  and  frozen 
as  Norway,  parched  and  barren  as  Sahara,  strewed  like 
Golgotha  with  bones  and  skulls,  reaking  with  stench 
like  the  vale  of  Gehenna, — witness  your  mistake  !  The 
way  to  hell  is  gorgeous  !  It  is  a  highway,  cast  up  ;  no 
lion  is  there,  no  ominous  bird  to  hoot  a  warning,  no 
echoings  of  the  wailing-pit,  no  lurid  gleams  of  distant 
fires,  or  moaning  sounds  of  hidden  woe  !  Paradise  is 
imitated  to  build  you  a  way  to  death  :  the  flowers  of 
heaven  are  stolen  and  poisoned ;  the  sweet  plant  of 
knowledge  is  here  ;  the  pure  white  flower  of  religion  ; 
seeming  virtue  and  the  charming  tints  of  innocence  are 
scattered  all  along  like  native  herbage.  The  enchanted 
victim  travels  on.  Standing  afar  behind,  and  from  a 
silver-trumpet,  a  heavenly  messenger  sends  down  the 
wind  a  solemn  warning:  There  is  a  way  which  seemeth 

RIGHT     TO     man,     BUT     THE    END    THEREOF     IS     DEATH.       And 

again,  with  louder  blast  :  The  wise  man  foreseeth  the 
EVIL  ;  FOOLS  PASS  ON  AND  ARE  PUNISHED.  Startled  for  a 
moment,  the  victim  pauses;  gazes  round  upon  the  flow- 
ery scene,  and  whispers,  Is  it  not  harmless? — '•'•Harm- 
less'''' responds  a  serpent  from  the  grass! — ^'•Harmless'''' 
echo  the  sighing  winds! — '•^Harmless''''  re-echoes  a  hun- 
dred airy  tongues  !  If  now  a  gale  from  heaven  might 
only  sweep  the  clouds  away  through  which  the  victim 
gazes  ;  oh  !  if  God  would  break  that  potent  power  which 
chains  the  blasts  of  hell,  and  let  the  sulpher-stench  roll 
up  the  vale,  how  would  the  vision  change  ! — the  road  be- 
come a  track  of  dead  men's  bones  ! — the  heavens  a  lower- 
ing storm  ! — the  balmy  breezes,  distant  wailings  ! — and  all 
those  balsam-shrubs  that  lied  to  his  senses,  sweat  drops 
of  blood  upon  their  poison-boughs  ! 


130  GAMBLERS      AND      GAMBLING. 

Ye,  who  are  meddling  with  the  edges  of  vice,  aix' 
ou  tliis  road  ! — and  utterly  duped  by  its  enchant- 
ments !  Your  eye  has  already  lost  its  honest  glance, 
your  taste  has  lost  its  purity,  your  lieart  throbs  with 
poison  !  The  leprosy  is  all  over  you,  its  blotches  and 
eruptions  cover  you.  Your  feet  stand  on  slippei-y 
places,  whence  in  due  time  they  shall  slide,  if  you  re- 
fuse the  warning  which  I  raise.  They  shall  slide  from 
heaven,  never  to  be  visited  by  a  gambler  ;  slide  down  t(» 
that  fiery  abyss  below  you,  out  of  which  none  ever 
come.  Then,  when  the  last  card  is  cast,  and  the  game 
over,  and  you  lost ;  then,  when  the  echo  of  your  fall 
shall  ring  through  hell, — in  malignant  triumph,  shall  the 
Arch-Gambler,  who  cunningly  played  for  your  soul,  have 
his  prey  !  Too  late  you  shall  look  back  upon  life  as  a 
MIGHTY  GAME,  in  which  you  were  the  stake,  and  Satan  the 
w  inner ! 


LECTURE    VI. 


All  scripture  is  given  by  inspiration  of  God,  and  is  profitable  for  doc- 
trine, for  reproof,  for  correction,  for  instruction  in  righteousness  : 
that  the  man  of  God  may  be  perfect,  thoroughly  furnished  unto  all 
good  works.     2  Tim.  iii.  16,  17. 

Surely  one  cannot  declare  the  whole  counsel  of  God, 
and  leave  out  a  subject  which  is  interwoven  with  almost 
every  ciiapter  of  the  Bible.  So  inveterate  is  the  preju- 
dice against  introducing  into  the  pulpit  the  subject  of 
Licentiousness,  that  Ministers  of  the  Gospel,  knowing  the 
vice  to  be  singularly  dangerous  and  frequent,  have  yet 
by  silence  almost  complete,  or  broken  only  by  hints  and 
circuitous  allusions,  manifested  their  submission  to  the 
popular  taste.  Since  I  announced,  last  Sabbath,  the  sub- 
ject of  this  Lecture,  how  w^ide  is  the  range  of  censure, 
what  protestations  of  modesty,  what  railings  at  a  sermon 
which  had  not  been  heard,  or  even  written  !*     That  Vice 

*  The  liberality  with  which  this  Lecture  was  condemned  before  I  had 
written  it,  and  the  prompt  criticisms  afterwards,  of  those  who  did  not 
liear  it,  have  induced  me  to  print  it  almost  unaltered.  Otherwise  I 
should  have  changed  many  portions  of  it  from  forms  of  expression 
peculiar  to  the  pulpit  into  those  better  suited  to  a  book.  I  await  with 
some  solicitude,  the  effect  of  this  Lecture  upon  those  whose  exquisite 
sensibility  has  altogether  out  run  the  modesty  of  the  Bible; — a  book, 
proper,  perhaps,  for  the  coarseness  of  a  former  age,  but  it  would  seem, 
quite  too  indelicate  for  the  refinement  of  this. 


132  THK     STRANGE     WOMAN. 

upon  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  be  more  explicit  and 
full  than  upon  any  other;  against  which  he  uttered  his 
voice  upon  Sinai,  Thou  shall  not  commit  adultery  ;  upon 
which  the  lawgiver,  Moses,  legislated  with  boldness ; 
which  Judges  condemned ;  upon  which  the  venerable 
Prophets  spake  oft  and  again  ;  against  which  Christ  with 
singular  directness  and  plainness  uttered  the  purity  of 
religion  ;  and  upon  which  He  inspired  Paul  to  discourse 
to  the  Corinthians,  and  to  almost  every  primitive  church; 
this  subject  upon  which  the  Bible  does  not  so  much 
speak,  as  thunder — not  by  a  single  bolt,  but  peal  after 
peal — we  are  solemnly  warned  not  to  introduce  into 
the  pulpit ! 

The  church  knows,  and  the  whole  community  know, 
that  the  sin  of  Impurity  ismost  deadly  ;  that  itis  prevalent ; 
and  that  in  every  age  ijt  has  raised  its  unblushing  head, 
unrebuked  except  by  the  voice  of  Religion:  but  now,  that 
voice  is  commanded  to  be  still ;  and  Vice,  grown  wanton 
and  irrepressible,  is  to  stalk  whither  it  will,  unchecked, 
undenounced,  uncondemned. 

I  am  entirely  aware  of  the  delicacy  of  introducing  this 
subject  into  the  pulpit. 

One  ditliculty  arises  from  the  sensitiveness  of  unalfect- 
ed  purity.  A  mind,  retaining  all  the  dew  and  freshness 
of  innocence,  shrinks  from  the  very  idea  of  impurity,  as 
if  it  were  sin  to  have  thought  or  heard  of  it, — as  if  even 
the  shadow  of  the  evil  would  leave  some  soil  upon  the 
unsullied  whiteness  of  the  virgin-mind.  Shall  we  be  an- 
gry with  this  1  or  shall  we  rudely  rebuke  so  amiable  a 
feeling,  because  it  regrets  a  necessary  duty  ?  God  for- 
bid !  If  there  be,  in  the  world,  that  whose  generous 
iaults  should  be  rebuked  only  by  the  tenderness  of  a  re- 


THE      STRANGE     UOMAN.  133 

proving  smile,  it  is  the  mistake  of  inexperienced  purity. 
We  would  as  soon  pelt  an  angel,  bewildered  among  men 
and  half  smothered  with  earth's  noxious  vapors,  for  his 
trembling  apprehensions.  To  any  such,  who  have  half 
wished  that  I  might  not  speak,  I  say  : — Nor  would  I,  did 
I  not  know  that  purity  will  suffer  more  by  the  silence  of 
shame,  than  by  the  honest  voice  of  truth. 

Another  difficulty  springs  from  the  nature  of  the 
English  language,  which  lias  hardly  been  framed  in  a 
school  where  it  may  wind  and  fit  itself  to  all  the  phases 
of  impurity.  But  were  I  speaking  French — the  dialect 
of  refined  sensualism  and  of  licentious  literature  ;  the 
language  of  a  land  where  taste  and  learning  and  art  wait 
upon  the  altars  of  impurity — then  I  might  copiously  speak 
of  this  evil,  nor  use  one  plain  word.  But  I  thank  God, 
the  honest  English  tongue  which  I  have  learned,  has 
never  been  so  bred  to  this  vile  subservience  of  evil. 
We  have  plain  words  enough  to  say  plain  things,  but  the 
dignity  and  manliness  of  our  language  has  never  grown 
supple  to  twine  around  brilliant  dissipation.  It  has  too 
many  plain  words,  vulgar  words,  vile  words  ;  but  it  has 
few  mirror-words,  which  cast  a  sidelong  image  of  an 
idea ;  it  has  few  words  which  wear  a  meaning  smile,  a 
courtezan-glance  significant  of  something  unexpressed. 
When  public  vice  necessitates  public  reprehension,  it  is, 
for  these  reasons,  difficult  to  redeem  plainness  from  vul- 
garity. We  must  speak  plainly  and  properly  ;  or  else 
speak  by  innuendo — which  is  the  devil's  language. 

Another  difficulty  lies   in   the   confused  echos   which 

vile  men  create  in  every  community,  when  the  pulpit 

disturbs  them.     Do  I  not  know  the  arts  of  cunning  men? 

Did  not  Demetrius,   the  Silver-smith  (worthy    to    have 

12 


1  34  T  H  K     S  T  R  A  N  G  E     W  OMAN. 

lived  in  our  day  !)  become  most  wonderfully  pious,  and 
run  all  over  the  city  to  rouse  up  the  dormant  zeal  of 
Diana's  worshippers,  and  gather  a  mob,  to  whom  he 
preached  tJiat  Diana  inust  he  cared  for;  when,  to  his 
fellow-craftsmen,  he  told  the  truth:  our  craft  is  in  dan- 
ger !  Men  will  not  quietly  be  exposed.  They  foresee 
the  rising  of  a  virtuously  retributive  public  sentiment,  as 
the  mariner  sees  the  cloud  of  the  storm- rolling  up  the 
heavens !  Tliey  strive  to  forestall  and  resist  it.  How 
loudly  will  a  liquor-fiend  protest  against  temperance 
lectures — sinful  enough  for  redeeming  victims  from  his 
paw  !  How  sensitive  some  men  to  a  church  bell  !  they 
are  hin'h  priests  of  revivals  at  a  horse-race,  a  theatre,  or 
a  liquor-supper  ;  but  a  religious  revival  pains  their  sober 
minds.  Even  thus,  the  town  will  be  made  vocal  with 
outcries  against  sermons  on  licentiousness.  Who  cries 
out? — the  sober? — the  immaculate? — the  devout?  It  is 
the  voice  of  the  son  of  midnight ;  it  is  the  shriek  of  the 
STRANGE  woman's  victim  !  and  their  sensitiveness  is  not  of 
purity,  but  of  fear  !  Men  protest  against  the  indecency 
of  the  pulpit,  because  the  pulpit  makes  them  feel  their 
own  indecency  ;  they  would  drive  us  from  the  investiga- 
tion of  vice,  that  they  may  keep  the  field  open  for  their 
own  occupancy.  I  expect  such  men's  reproaches.  I 
know  the  reasons  of  them.  I  am  not  to  be  turned  by 
them,  not  one  hairs  breadth,  if  they  rise  to  double  their 
present  volume,  until  I  have  hunted  home  the  wolf  to 
his  lair,  and  ripped  off  his  brindled  hide  in  his  very  den  ! 
Another  difficulty  exists  in  the  criminal  fastidiousness 
of  the  community  upon  this  subject.  Fastidiousness  is 
the  counterfeit  of  delicacy.     It  resembles  it  less  than 


THE     STRANGE      WO  M  AN.  1 35 

paste-jewels  do  the  pure  pearl.  Where  delicacy,  the 
atmosphere  of  a  pure  heart,  is  lost,  or  never  was  had, 
a  substitute  is  sought;  and  is  found  in  forms  of  deli- 
cacy, not  in  its  feelings.  It  is  a  delicacy  of  exterior,  of 
etiquette,  of  show,  of  rules;  not  o^  thought,  not  of  a  pure 
imagination.)  not  of  the  chrystal-current  of  the  lieart  ! 
Criminal  fastidiousness  is  the  Pharisee's  sepulchre  ;  clean, 
white,  beautiful  without,  full  of  dead  men's  bones  with- 
in ! — the  Pharisees  platter,  the  Pharisee's  cup — it  is  the 
very  Pharisee  himself;  and  like  him  of  old,  lays  on  bur- 
dens grievous  to  be  borne.  Fastidiousness  is  a  well 
which  men's  hands  have  dug,  and  dug  for  their  own  con- 
venience. Delicacy  is  a  spring  which  God  lias  sunken 
in  the  rock,  which  the  winter  never  freezes,  the  summer 
never  heats  ;  which  sends  its  quiet  waters  with  music 
down  the  flowery  hill-side,  and  which  is  pure  and  trans- 
parent, because  it  lias  at  the  bottom  no  sediment.  I 
would  that  every  one  of  us  iiad  this  well  of  life,  gushing 
from  our  hearts — an  everlasting  and  full  stream  ! 

False  modesty  always  judges  by  the  outside ;  it 
cares  how  you  speak,  more  than  iclial.  That  which 
would  outrage  in  plain  woi'ds,  may  be  implied  furtive- 
ly, in  the  sallies  of  wit  or  fancy,  and  be  admissible. 
Every  day  I  see  this  giggling  modesty,  which  blushes  at 
language  more  than  at  its  meaning  ;  which  smiles  upon 
base  things,  if  they  will  appear  in  the  garb  of  virtue  ! 
That  disease  of  mind  to  which  I  have  frecfaently  alluded 
in  these  lectures,  which  leads  it  to  clothe  vice  beautifully 
and  then  admit  it,  has  had  a  fatal  effect  also  upon  Litera- 
ture ;  giving  currency  to  filth,  by  coining  it  in  the  mint  of 
beauty.  It  is  under  the  influence  of  this  disease  of  taste 
and  heart,  that  we  hear  expressed  such  strange  judg- 


1  36  THE      S  T  11  A  N  G  E      -WOMAN. 

nients  upon  English  authors.  Those  wlio  speak  plainly 
what  they  mean,  when   they  speak  at  all,  are  called  rude 

and  vulgar ;  while  those  upon  whose  exquisite  sentences 
the  dew  of  indelicacy  rests  like  so  many  brilliant  pearls 
of  the  morning  upon  flowers,  are  called  our  moral  au- 
thors! 

The  most  dangerous  writers  in  the  English  language 
are  those  whose  artful  insinuations  and  mischievous 
polish  reflect  upon  the  mind  the  image  of  impurity,  with- 
out presenting  the  impurity  itself.  A  plain  vulgarity  in 
a  writer  is  its  own  antidote.  It  is  like  a  foe  who  attacks 
us  openly,  and  gives  us  opportunity  of  defence.  But 
impurity,  secreted  under  beauty,  is  like  a  treacherous 
friend  who  strolls  with  us  in  a  garden  of  sweets,  and 
destroys  us  by  the  odor  of  poisonous  flowers  proffered  to 
our  senses.     Let  the  reprehensible  grossness  of  Chaucer 

*  be  compared  with  the  perfumed,  elaborate  brilliancy  of 
Moore's  license.  1  would  not  willingly  answer  at  the 
bar  of  God  for  the  writings  of  either ;  but  of  the  two,  I 
W'ould  rather  bear  the  sin  of  Chaucers  plain-spoken 
words  which  never  suggest  more  than  they  say,  than 
the  sin  of  Moore's  language,  over  which  plays  a  witching 
liue  and  shade  of  licentiousness.  I  would  rather  put  the 
downright,  and  often  abominable,  vulgarity  of  Swift  into 
my  child's  hand,  than  the  scoundrel-indirections  of 
Sterne.  They  are  both  impure  writers  ;  but  not  equally 
harmful.  The  one  says  what  he  means;  the  other  means 
what  he  does  not  say.  Swift  is,  in  this  respect,  Belial 
in  his  own  form  ;  Sterne  is  Satan  in  the  form  of  an  avgd 
of  light :  and  many  w^ill  receive  the  temptation  of  the 
Angel,  who  would  scorn  the  profler  of  the  Demon. 
What   an    incredible   state   of    morals,  in   the   English 


THE      STRxVNGE      WOMAN.  137 

church,  that  permitted  two  of  her  eminent  clergy  to  be 
the  most  licentious  writers  of  the  age,  and  as  impure 
as  almost  any  of  the  English  literature  !  Even  our  most 
classic  authors  have  chosen  to  elaborate,  with  exijuisite 
art,  scenes  which  cannot  but  have  more  eli'ect  upon  the 
passions  than  upon  the  taste.  Embosomed  in  the  midst 
of  Thompson's  glowing  Seasons,  one  finds  descriptions 
unsurpassed  by  any  part  of  Don  Juan  ;  and  as  much  more 
dangerous  than  it  is,  as  a  courtezan,  countenanced  by  vir- 
tuous society,  is  more  dangerous  than  when  among  her 
own  associates.  Indeed,  an  author  who  surprises  you 
with  refined  indehcacies  in  moral  and  reputable  writ- 
ings, is  worse  than  one,  who,  without  disguise,  and  on 
purpose,  serves  up  a  whole  banquet  of  indelicacies. 
Many  will  admit  poison-morsels  well  sugared,  who  would 
revolt  from  an  infernal  feast  of  impurity.  There  is  little 
danger  that  robbers  will  tempt  the  honest  young  to  rob- 
bery. Someone  first  tempts  him  to  falsehood  ;  next,  to 
petty  dishonesties  ;  next,  to  pilfering  ;  then,  to  thieving; 
and  now,  only,  will  the  robber  influence  him,  when  others 
have  handed  him  down  to  his  region  of  crime.  Those  au- 
thors who  soften  evil,  and  show  deformity  with  tints  of 
beauty  ;  who  arm  their  general  purity  with  the  sting  of 
occasional  impurity  ; — these  are  they  who  take  the  feet 
out  of  the  strait  path — the  guiltiest  part  of  seduction.  He 
who  feeds  an  inflamed  appetite  with  food  spiced  to  fire, 
is  less  guilty  than  he  who  hid  in  the  mind  the  leaven 
which  wrought  to  this  appetite.  The  polished  seducer 
is  certainly  more  dangerous  than  the  vulgar  debauchee 
— both  in   life,  and  in   literature. 

In   the  same  contrast  are  to   be  placed  Shakespeare 
and  Buiwer :  Shakespeare   is   sometia^.cs  gross,  but  not 
12* 


138  THE     STRANGE     WOMAN. 

often  covertly  impure.  BuUver  is  slily  impure,  but  not 
often  gross.  I  am  speaking,  however,  only  of  Shakes- 
peare's Plays,  and  not  of  his  youthful  fugitive  pieces  ; 
which,  I  am  afraid,  cannot  have  part  in  this  exception. 
He  began  wrong,  but  grew  better.  At  first,  he  wrote 
by  the  taste  of  his  age  ;  but  when  a  man,  he  wrote  to  his 
own  taste  :  and  though  he  is  not  without  sin,  yet,  com- 
pared with  his  cotemporaries,  he  is  not  more  illustrious 
for  his  genius  than  for  his  purity.  Reprehension,  to  be 
effective,  should  be  just.  No  man  is  prepared  to  ex- 
cuse properly  the  occasional  blemishes  of  this  wonderful 
writer,  who  has  not  been  shocked  at  the  immeasurable 
licentiousness  of  the  Dramatists  of  his  cycle.  One 
play  of  Ford,  one  act,  one  conversation,  has  more  abom- 
inations than  the  whole  world  of  Shakespeare.  Let 
those  women,  who  ignorantly  sneer  at  Shakespeare,  re- 
member that  they  are  indebted  to  him  for  the  noblest 
conceptions  of  woman's  character  in  our  literature — the 
more  praiseworthy,  because  he  found  no  models  in  cur- 
rent authors.  The  occasional  touches  of  truth  and 
womanly  delicacy  in  the  early  Dramatists  are  no  com- 
pensation for  the  wholesale  coarseness  and  vulgarity  oi 
their  female  characters.  In  Shakespeare,  woman  appears 
in  her  true  form — pure,  disinterested,  ardent,  devoted  ;  ca- 
pable of  the  noblest  feelings,  of4he  highest  deeds,  of  any 
thing — but  meanness  and  vulgarity.  The  language  of 
many  of  Shakespeare's  women  would  be  shocking  in  our 
day  ;  but  so  would  be  the  domestic  manners  of  that  age. 
The  same  actions  may  in  one  age  be  a  sign  of  corrup- 
tion, and  be  perfectly  innocent  in  another.  No  one  is 
shocked  that  in  a  pioneer-cabin,  one  room  serves  for  a 
parlor,  a  kitchen,  and  a  bed-room,  for  the   whole  family, 


THE     STRANGE     AV  O  M  A  N  .  1  39 

and  for  promiscuous  guests.  Should  fastidiousness  re- 
volt at  this,  as  vulgar  ? — the  vulgarity  must  be  accredited 
to  the  fastidiousness,  and  not  to  the  custom.  Yet,  it 
would  be  inexcusable  in  a  refined  metropolis.  But 
nothing  in  these  remarks  must  apologise  for  language  or 
deed,  which  indicates  an  impure  heart.  No  age,  no  cus- 
tom, may  plead  extenuation  for  essential  lust ;  and  no 
sound  mind  can  refrain  from  commendation  of  the  mas- 
ter-Dramatist of  the  world,  when  he  learns  that  in 
writing  for  a  most  licentious  age,  he  rose  above  it  so 
far  as  to  become  something  like  a  model  to  it  of  a  more 
virtuous  way. 

Bulwer  has  made  the  English  novel-literature  more 
vile  than  he  found  it.  Shakespeare  left  the  dramatical 
literature  immeasurably  purer  than  it  came  to  him.  The 
one  was  a  reformer,  the  other  an  implacable  corrupter. 
We  respect  and  admire  the  one,  (while  we  mark  his  faults) 
because  he  withstood  his  age  ;  and  we  despise  with  utter 
loathing  the  other,  whose  specific  gravity  of  wickedness 
sunk  him  below  the  level  of  his  own  age.  With  a  mode- 
rate caution,  Shakespeare  may  be  safely  put  into  the 
hands  of  the  young.  I  regard  the  admission  of  Bulwer 
as  a  crime  against  the  first  principles  of  virtue. 

In  all  the  cases  which  I  have  considered,  you  will 
remark  a  greater  indulgence  to  that  impurity  which 
breaks  out  on  the  surface,  than  to  that  which  lurks  in 
the  blood  and  destroys  the  constitution.  It  is  the 
curse  of  our  literature  that  it  is  traversed  by  so  many 
rills  of  impurity.  It  is  a  vast  champaign,  waving  with 
unexampled  luxuriance  of  flower,  and  vine,  and  fruit ; 
but  the  poisonous  flower  every  where  mingles  with  the 
pure  ;  and  the  deadly  cluster  lays  its  cheek  on  the  whole- 


140  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

some  graj)e ;  nay,  in  the  same  cluster  grow  both  the 
harmless  and  the  hurtful  berry  ;  so  that  the  hand  can 
hardly  be  stretched  out  to  gather  llower  or  Iruit  without 
coming  back  poisoned.  It  is  both  a  shame  and  an 
amazing  wonder,  that  the  literature  of  a  Christian  na- 
tion should  reak  with  a  filth  which  Pagan  antiquity  could 
scarcely  endure  ;  that  the  IMinisters  of  Christ  should  have 
left  floating  in  the  pool  of  oHensive  writings,  much  that 
would  have  brought  blood  to  the  ciieek  of  a  Roman 
priest,  and  have  shamed  an  actor  of  tlie  school  of  Aris- 
tophanes. Literature  is,  in  turn,  both  the  cause  and 
eflect  of  the  spirit  of  the  age.  Its  ellect  upon  tliis  age 
has  been  to  create  a  lively  relish  for  exipjisitely  artful 
licentiousness,  and  disgust  only  for  vulgarity.  A  witty, 
brilliant,  suggestive  indecency  is  tolerated  for  the  sake  of 
its  genius.  An  oge  which  translates  and  floods  the  com- 
munity with  French  novels,  (inspired  by  Venus  and 
Bacchus,)  which  reprints  in  popular  forms,  Byron,  and 
Bulwer,  and  Moore,  and  Fielding,  proposes  to  revise 
Shakespeare  and  expurgate  the  Bible  !  !  Men  who,  at 
home,  allow  Don  Juan  to  lie  within  reach  of  every 
reader,  will  not  allow  a  Minister  of  the  gospel  to  ex- 
pose the  evil  of  such  a  literature !  To  read  authors 
whose  lines  drop  with  the -very  gall  of  de;ith  ;  to  vault  in 
elegant  dress  as  near  the  edge  of  indecency  as  is  possi- 
ble without  treading  over;  to  express  the  utmost  pos- 
sible impurity  so  dextrously,  that  not  a  vulgar  word  is 
used,  but  rosy,  glowing,  suggestive  language — this,  it 
seems,  is  modern  refinement.  But  to  expose  the  prev- 
alent vice ;  to  meet  its  glittering  literature  with  the 
plain  and  manly  language  of  truth  ;  to  say  nothing  ex- 
cept what  one  desires  to  say  plainly — this,  it  seems,  is 
vulgarity  ! 


THE     STRANGE     WOMAN.  141 

One  of  the  first  steps  in  any  reformation  must  be,  not 
alone  nor  first  the  correction  of  the  grossness,  but  of 
the  elegancies  of  imparity.  Could  our  literature,  and 
men's  conversation,  be  put  under  such  authority  that 
neither  should  express,  by  insinuation",  what  dared  not 
be  said  openly,  in  a  little  time,  men  would  not  dare  to 
say  at  all  what  it  would  be  indecent  to  speak  plainly. 

If  there  be  here  any  disciples  of  Bulwer  ready  to  dis- 
port in  the  very  ocean  of  license,  if  its  waters  only  seem 
translucent ;  who  can  read  and  relish  all  that  fires  the 
heart,  and  are  only  then  distressed  and  shocked  when  a 
serious  man  raises  the  rod  to  correct  and  repress  the 
evil ;  if  there  be  here  any  who  can  drain  his  goblet 
of  mingled  wine,  and  only  shudder  at  chrystal-water  ; 
any  who  can  see  this  modern  Prophet  of  villainy 
strike  the  rock  of  corruption,  to  water  his  motley 
herd  of  revellers,  but  hate  him  who  out  of  the  Rock 
of  Truth  should  bid  gush  the  healthful  stream  ; — I  be- 
seech them  to  bow  their  heads  in  this  Christian  assem- 
bly, and  weep  their  tears  of  regret  in  secret  places,  until 
the  evening  service  be  done,  and  Bulwer  can  staunch 
their  tears,  and  comfort  again  their  wounded  hearts. 

Whenever  an  injunction  is  laid  upon  plain  and  unde- 
niable scripture-truth,  and  I  am  forbidden,  upon  pain  of 
your  displeasure,  to  preach  it ;  then,  I  should  not  so  much 
regard  my  personal  feelings,  as  the  aflront  which  you 
put  upon  my  Master ;  and  in  my  inmost  soul  I  shall  re- 
sent that  afiront.  There  is  no  esteem,  there  is  no  love, 
like  that  which  is  founded  in  the  sanctity  of  religion. 
Between  many  of  you  and  me,  that  sanctity  exists.  I 
stood  by  your  side  when  you  awoke  in  the  dark  valley  of 
conviction,  and  owned  vourselves  lost.     I  have  led   vou 


'V. 


142  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

by  tlie  hand  out  of  the  darkness  ;  by  your  side  I  have 
prayed,  and  my  tears  have  mingled  with  yours.  I  have 
bathed  you  in  the  chrystal-waters  of  a  holy  baptism  ;  and 
when  you  sang  the  song  of  the  ransomed  captive,  it 
filled  my  heart  with  a  joy  as  great  as  that  which  uttered 
it.  Love,  beginning  in  such  scenes,  and  drawn  from  so 
sacred  a  fountain,  is  not  comm.ercial,  nor  fluctuating. 
Amid  severe  toils  and  not  a  few  anxieties,  it  is  the 
crown  of  rejoicing  to  a  Pastor.  What  iiave  we  in  this 
world  but  you  ?  To  be  your  servant  in  the  gospel,  we 
renounce  all  those  paths  by  which  other  men  seek  pre- 
fei-ment.  Silver  and  gold  is  not  in  our  houses,  and  our 
names  are  not  heard  where  fame  proclaims  others.  Rest 
we  are  forbidden  until  death  ;  and  girded  with  the  whole 
armor,  our  lives  are  spent  in  the  dust  and  smoke  of  con- 
tinued battle.  But  even  such  love  will  not  tolerate 
bondage.  We  can  be  servants  to  love,  but  never  slaves 
to  caprice  ;  still  less  can  we  heed  the  mandates  of  iniq- 
uitv  ! 


The  proverbs  of  Solomon  are  designed  to  furnish 
us  a  series  of  maxims  for  every  relation  of  life.  There 
will  naturally  be  the  most  said  where  there  is  the  most 
needed.  If  the  frequency  of  warning  against  any  sin 
measures  the  liability  of  man  to  that  sin,  then  none  is 
worse  than  Impurity.  In  many  separate  passages  is 
the  solemn  warning  against  the  strange  woman,  given 
with  a  force  which  must  terrify  all  but  the  innocent  or 
incorrigible  ;  and  with  a  delicacy  which  all  will  feel  but 
those   whose  modesty   is   the    fluttering   of  an   impure 


THE      ST  RANG  K      WOMAN.  143 

imagination.     I  shall  take  such  parts  of  all  these  passa- 
ges as  Avill  make  out  a  connected  narrative. 

When  icisdom  entereth  into  tliy  heart,  and  knowledge  is 
pleasant  unto  thy  soul,  discretion  shall  preserve  thee  .  .  . 
to  deliver  thee  from  the  strange  woman,  which  flattereth 
irith  her  tongue;  Iter  lips  drop  as  a  honey-comb.  Iter  mouth 
is  smoother  than  oil.  She  sitteth  at  the  door  of  her  house 
on  a  seat  in  the  high  places  of  the  city,  to  call  to  passen- 
gers icho  go  right  on  their  ways:  '  whoso  is  simple  let  him 
turn  in  hither.''  To  him  that  wanteth  understanding,  she 
saith  ^stolen  ivaters  are  sweet  and  bread  eaten  in  secret  is 
pleasant;''  but  he  knoweth  not  that  the  dead  are  there. 
Lust  not  after  her  beauty,  neither  let  her  take  thee  with  her 
eyelids.  She  forsaketh  the  guide  of  her  youth,  and  for- 
getteth  the  command  of  her  God.  Lest  thou  shouldst  pon- 
der the  path  of  life,  her  ways  are  moveable,  that  thou 
canst  not  know  them.  Remove  thy  icay  far  from  Iter,  and 
come  not  nigh  the  door  of  her  house,  for  her  house  inclineth 
unto  death.  She  has  cast  down  many  loounded;  yea, 
many  strong  men  have  been  slain  by  her.  Her  house  is 
the  icay  to  Hell, going  down  to  the  chamber  of  death;  none 
that  go  unto  her,  return  again;  neither  take  they  hold  of 
the  paths  of  life.  Let  not  thy  heart  decline  to  her  ways, 
lest  thou  mourn  at  last,  ivhcn  thy  flesh  and  thy  body  are 
consumed  and  say:  ^How  have  I  hated  instruction,  and  my 
heart  deepised  reproof.  I  was  in  all  evil  in  the  midst  of 
the  congregation  and  assembly.'' 

I.  Can  language  be  found  which  can  draw  a  corrupt 
beauty  so  vividly  as  this:  Which  forsaketh  the  guide  of 
her  youth,  and  forgetteth  the  covenant  of  her  God.  Look 
out  upon  that  fallen  creature  whose  gay  sally  through 


144  THE      STRANGE     ^V  O  51  A  N  . 

the  street  calls  out  the  significant  laugh  of  bad  men,  the 
pity  of  good  men,  and  the  horror  of  the  pure.  Was  not 
her  cradle  as  pure  as  ever  a  loved  infant  pressed  ?  Love 
soothed  its  cries.  Sisters  watched  its  peaceful  sleep, 
and  a  mother  pressed  it  fondly  to  her  bosom  !  Had  you 
afterwards,  when  spring-flowers  covered  the  earlh,  and 
every  gale  was  odor,  and  every  sound  was  music,  seen 
her,  fiiirer  than  the  lily  or  tiie  violet,  searching  them, 
would  you  not  have  said,  '  sooner  shall  the  rose  grow 
poisonous  than  she ;  both  may  wither,  but  neither  cor-, 
rupt.'  And  how  often,  at  evening,  did  she  clasp  her  tiny 
hands  in  prayer  ?  How  often  did  she  put  the  wonder- 
raising  questions  to  her  mother,  of  God,  and  heaven,  and 
the  dead — as  if  she  had  seen  heavenly  things  in  a  vision  ! 
As  voung  womanhood  advanced,  and  these  foreshadowed 
graces  ripened  to  the  bud  and  burst  into  bloom,  health 
flowed  in  her  cheek,  love  looked  from  her  eye,  and  pu- 
rity was  an  atmosphere  around  her.  Alas  !  she  forsook 
the  guide  of  her, youth.  Faint  thoughts  of  evil,  like  a  far- 
off  cloud  which  the  sunset  gilds,  came  first  ;  nor  does  the 
rosy  sunset  blush  deeper  along  the  heaven,  than  her 
cheek,  at  the  first  thought  of  evil.  Now,  ah  !  mother, 
and  thou  guiding  elder  sister,  could  ye  have  seen  the 
lurking  spirit  embosomed  in  that  cloud,  a  holy  prayer 
might  have  broke  the  spell,  a  tear  have  washed  its  stain  ! 
Alas !  they  saw  it  not ;  she  spoke  it  not  ;  she  was  for- 
saking the  guide  of  her  youth.  She  thinketh  no  more  of 
Heaven.  She  breatheth  no  more  prayers.  She  hath 
no  more  penitential  tears  to  shed  ;  until  after  a  long  life, 
she  drops  the  bitter  tear  upon  the  cheek  of  despair, — 
then  her  only  suitor.  Thou  hast  forsaken  the  covenant  of 
thy  God.  Go  down  !  fall  never  to  rise  !  Hell  opens  to 
be  thy  home  ! 


THE      STRANGE     WOMAN.  145 

Oh  Prince  of  torment !  if  thou  hast  transforming 
power,  give  some  relief  to  this  once  innocent  child, 
whom  another  has  corrupted  !  Let  thy  deepest  damna- 
tion seize  him  who  brought  her  hither !  let  his  corona- 
tion be.  upon  the  very  mount  of  torment  !  and  the  rain 
of  fiery  hail  be  his  salutation  !  He  shall  be  crowned 
with  thorns  poisoned  and  anguish-bearing ;  and  every 
woe  beat  upon  him,  and  every  wave  of  hell  roll  over  the 
first  risings  of  baffled  hope.  If  Satan  hath  one  dart 
more  poisoned  than  another ;  if  God  hath  one  bolt  more 
transfixing  and  blasting  than  another  ;  if  there  be  one 
hideous  spirit  more  unrelenting  than  others  ;  they  shall  be 
thine,  most  execrable  wretch  !  who  led  her  to  forsake 
the  guide  of  her  youth,  and  to  abandon  the  covenant  of  her 
God.  Thy  guilty  thoughts  and  guilty  deeds  shall  flit 
after  thee  with  bows  which  never  break,  and  quivers 
forever  emptying  but  never  exhausted  ! 

II.  The  next  injunction  of  God  to  the  young  is  upon 
the  ensnaring  danger  of  Beauty.  Desire  .not  her  beauty 
in  thy  heart,  neitJier  let  her  take  thee  with  her  eyelids.  God 
did  not  make  so  much  of  nature,  with  exquisite  beauty, 
or  put  within  us  a  taste  for  it,  without  object.  He 
meant  that  it  should  delight  us.  He  made  every  flower 
to  charm  us  ;  He  never  made  a  color,  nor  graceful-flying- 
bird,  nor  silvery  insect,  without  meaning  to  please  our 
taste.  When  He  clothes  a  man  or  woman  with  beauty. 
He  confers  a  favor,  did  we  know  how  to  receive  it. 
Beauty,  with  amiable  dispositions  and  ripe  intelligence,  is 
more  to  any  woman  than  a  queen's  crown.  The  pea- 
sant's daughter,  the  rustic  belle,  if  they  have  woman's 
sound  discretion,  may  be  rightfully  prouder  than  kings' 
daughters  ;  for  God  adorns  those  who  are  both  good  and 
13 


146  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

beautiful  ;  man  can  only  conceal  the  want  of  beauty,  by 
blazing  jewels. 

As  motbs  and  tiny  insects  flutter  around  the  bright 
blaze  wiiich  was  kindled  for  no  harm,  so  the  foolish 
young  fall  down  burned  and  destroyed  by  the  IJlaze  of 
beauty.  As  the  flame  which  burns  to  destroy  the  insect, 
is  consuming  itself  and  soon  sinks  into  the  socket,  so 
beauty,  too  often,  draws  on  itself  that  ruin  which  it  in- 
flicts upon  others. 

If  God  hath  given  thee  beauty,  tremble  ;  for  it  is  as 
gold  in  thy  house — thieves  and  robbers  will  prowl 
around,  and  seek  to  possess  it.  If  God  hath  put  beauty 
before  thine  eyes,  remember  how  many  strong  men  have 
been  cast  down  wounded  by  it.  Art  thou  stronger  than 
David  ?  Art  thou  stronger  than  mighty  patriarchs  ? — 
than  kings  and  princes,  who,  by  its  fascinations,  have 
lost  peace,  and  purity,  and  honor,  and  riches,  and  ar- 
mies, and  even  kingdoms  ?  Let  other  men's  destruction 
be  thy  wisdom  ;  for  it  is  hard  to  reap  prudence  upon  the 
field  of  experience. 

III.  In  the  minute  description  of  this  dangerous  crea- 
ture, mark  next  how  seriously  we  are  cautioned  of  her 
Wiles. 

Her  idles  of  dress.  Coverings  of  tapestry  and  the  ^7ie 
linen  of  Egypt  are  hers ;  the  perfumes  oiinijrih  and  aloes  and 
cinnainon.  Silks  and  ribbons,  laces  and  rings,  gold  and 
equipage  ;  ah  !  how  mean  a  price  for  damnation.  The 
wretch  who  would  be  hung  simply  for  the  sake  of  riding 
to  the  gallows  on  a  golden  chariot,  clothed  in  king's  rai- 
ment— what  a  fool  were  he  !  Yet  how  many  consent 
to  enter  the  chariot  of  Death, — drawn  by  the  fiery  steeds 
of  lust  which  fiercely  fly,  and  stop  not  for  food  or  breath. 


THE      STRANGE      WOMAN.  147 

till  they  have  accomplished  their  fatal  journey — if  they 
may  spread  their  seat  with  flowery  silks,  or  flaunt  their 
forms  with  glowing  apparel  and  precious  jewels  ! 

Her  wiles  of  speech.  Beasts  may  not  speak ;  this 
honor  is  too  high  for  them.  To  God's  imaged-son  this 
prerogative  belongs,  to  utter  thought  and  feeling  in  ar- 
ticulate sounds.  We  may  breathe  our  thoughts  to  a 
thousand  ears,  and  infect  a  multitude  with  the  best  por- 
tions of  our  soul.  Our  feelings  are  not  like  a  smothered 
heat  in  a  choked  furnace.  How,  then,  has  this  soul's 
breath,  this  echo  of  our  thoughts,  this  only  image  of  our 
feelings,  been  perverted,  that  from  the  lips  of  sin  it  hath 
more  persuasion,  than  from  the  lips  of  wisdom  !  What 
horrid  wizzard  hath  put  the  world  under  a  spell  and 
charm,  that  words  from  the  lips  of  a  strange  woman 
shall  ring  upon  the  ear  like  tones  of  music  ;  while  words 
from  the  divine  lips  of  religion  fall  upon  the  startled  ear 
like  the  funeral  tones  of  the  burial-bell !  Philosophy 
seems  crabbed  ;  sin,  fair.  Purity  sounds  morose  and 
cross  ;  but  from  the  lips  of  the  harlot,  words  drop  as 
honey,  and  flow  smoother  than  oil ;  her  speech  is  fair, 
her  laugh  is  merry  as  music.  The  eternal  glory  of  pu- 
rity has  no  lustre,  but  the  deep  damnation  of  lust  is  made 
as  bright  as  the  gate  of  heaven  ! 

Her  wiles  of  love.  Love  is  the  mind's  light  and  heat ; 
it  is  that  tenuous  air  in  which  all  the  other  faculties 
exist,  as  we  exist  in  the  atmosphere.  A  mind  of  the 
greatest  stature  without  love,  is  like  the  huge  pyramid  of 
Egypt — chill  and  cheerless  in  all  its  dark  halls  and  passa- 
ges. A  mind  with  love,  is  as  a  king's  palace  lighted  for 
a  royal  festival. 

Shame  !  tliat  the  sweetest  of  all  the  mind's  attributes 


148  T 11 K      STRANGE      'WOMAN. 

should  be  suborned  to  sin  !  that  this  daughter  of  God 
should  become  a  Ganymede  to  arrogant  lusts  ! — the  cup- 
bearer to  tyrants  ! — yet  so  it  is.  Devil-tempter  !  will  thy 
poison  never  cease  ? — shall  beauty  be  poisoned  ? — shall  lan- 
guage be  charmed  ? — shall  love  be  made  to  defile  like  pitch, 
and  burn  as  the  living  coals  1  Her  tongue  is  like  a  bend- 
ed bow,  which  sends  the  silvery  shaft  of  flattering  words. 
Her  eye  shall  cheat  thee,  her  dress  shall  beguile  thee, 
her  beauty  is  a  trap,  her  sighs  are  baits,  her  words  are 
lures,  her  love  is  poisonous,  her  flattery  is  the  spider's 
w^eb  spread  for  thee.  Oh !  trust  not  thy  heart  nor  ear 
with  Delilah  !  The  locks  of  the  mightiest  Samson  are 
soon  shorn  olf,  if  he  will  but  lay  his  slumbering  head 
upon  her  lap.  He  who  could  slay  heaps  upon  heaps  of 
Philistines,  and  bear  upon  his  huge  shoulders  the  pon- 
derous iron-gate,  and  pull  down  the  vast  temple,  was  yet 
all  too  weak  to  contend  with  one,  wicked,  artful  woman  ! 
Trust  the  sea  with  thy  tiny  boat,  trust  the  fickle  wind, 
trust  the  changing  skies  of  iVpril,  trust  the  miser's  gene- 
rosity, the  tyrant's  mercy  ;  but  ah  !  simple  man,  trust  not 
thyself  near  the  artful  woman,  armed  in  her  beauty,  her 
cunning  raiment,  her  dimpled  smiles,  her  sighs  of  sorrow, 
her  look  of  love,  her  voice  of  flattery;  —  for  if  thou 
hadst  the  strength  of  ten  Ulysses,  unless  God  help  thee, 
Calypso  shall  make  thee  fast,  and  hold  thee  in  her  island  ! 

Next  beware  the  wile  of  her  reasonings.  To  him 
that  wanteth  understanding  she  saith,  stolen  ivafers  are 
sweet,  and  bread  eaten  in  seci'et  is  pleasant.  I  came  forth 
to  meet  thee,  and  I  have  found  thee. 

What  says  she  in  the  credulous  ear  of  inexperience  ? 
Why,  she  tells  him  that  sin  is  safe  ;  she  swears  to  him 
that  sin  is  pure ;  she  protests  to  him  that  sin  is  innocent. 


THE      STRANGE      AV  O  M  A  N  .  1  49 

Out  of  history  she  will  entice  him,  and  say :  Who 
hath  ever  refused  my  meat-ofterings  and  drink-offerings  ? 
What  king  have  I  not  sought  ?  What  conquerer  have  I 
not  conquered  ?  Philosophers  have  not,  in  all  their  wis- 
dom, learned  to  hate  me.  I  have  been  the  guest  of  the 
world's  greatest  men.  The  Egyptian  priest,  the  Athe- 
nian sage,  the  Roman  censor,  the  rude  Gaul,  have  all 
worshipped  in  my  temple.  Art  thou  afraid  to  tread 
where  Plato  trod,  and  the  pious  Socrates  ?  Art  thou 
wiser  than  iall  that  ever  lived  ? 

Nay,  she  readeth  the  Bible  to  him  ;  she  goeth  back 
along  the  line  of  history,  and  readeth  of  Abraham,  and  of  his 
glorious  c6mpeers  ;  she  skippeth  past  Joseph  w-ith  averted 
looks,  and  readeth  of  David  and  of  Solomon  ;  and  what- 
ever chapter  tells  how  good  men  stumbled,  there  she 
has  turned  down  a  leaf,  and  will  persuade  thee,  with 
honied  speech,  that  the  best  deeds  of  good  men  were 
their  sins,  and  that  thou  shouldst  only  imitate  them  in 
their  stumbling  and  falls  ! 

Or,  if  the  Bible  will  not  cheat  thee,  how  will  she  plead 
thine  own  nature  ;  how  will  she  whisper,  God  hath  made 
thee  so.  How,  like  her  father,  will  she  lure  thee  to  pluck 
the  apple,  saying.  Thou  shall  not  surely  die.  And  she  will 
hiss  at  virtuous  men,  and  spit  on  modest  women,  and 
shake  her  serpent-tongue  at  any  purity  which  shall  keep 
thee  from  her  ways.  Oh!  then,  listen  to  what  God  says  : 
With  much  fair  speech  she  causeth  him  to  yield  ;  with  the 
flattery  of  her  lips  she  forced  him.  He  goeth  after  her 
as  an  ox  goeth  to  the  slaughter^  or  as  a  fool  to  the  correc- 
tion of  the  stocks^  till  a  dart  strike  through  his  liver ^ — as  a 
bird  hasteth  to  a  snare  and  knowelh  not  that  it  is  for  his 
life. 

13* 


1  50  THE      S  T  R  x\  N  G  F,      WOMAN. 

I  will  ])oint  only  to  another  wile.  When  inexpe- 
rience has  been  beguiled  by  her  infernal  machinations, 
how,  like  a  flock  of  startled  birds,  will  spring  up  late  re- 
grets, and  shame,  and  fear ;  and  worst  of  all,  how  will 
conscience  ply  her  scorpion-whip  and  lash  thee,  uttering 
with  stern  visage,  'thou  art  dishonored,  thou  art  a  wretch, 
thou  art  lost!'  When  the  soul  is  full  of  such  outcry, 
memory  cannot  sleep  ;  she  wakes,  and  while  conscience 
still  plies  the  scourge,  will  bring  back  to  thy  thoughts, 
youthful  purity,  home,  a  mothers  face,  a  sister's  love,  a 
father's  counsel.  Perhaps  it  is  out  of  the  high  heaven 
that  thy  mother  looks  down  to  see  thy  baseness.  Oh  ! 
if  she  has  a  mother's  heart, — nay,  but  she  cannot  weep 
for  thee,  there  1 

These  wholesome  pains,  not  to  be  felt  if  there  were 
not  yet  health  in  the  mind,  would  save  the  victim, 
could  they  have  time  to  work.  But  how  often  have 
1  seen  the  spider  watch,  from  his  dark  round  hole, 
the  struggling  fly,  until  he  began  to  break  his  web ;  and 
then  dart  out  to  cast  his  long  lithe  arms  about  him,  and 
fasten  new  cords  stronger  than  ever.  So,  God  saith,  the 
strange  woman  shall  secure  her  ensnared  victims  if  they 
struggle:  Lest  thou  shouldst  ponder  the  path  of  life,  her 
ways  are  moveable  that  thou  canst  not  know  the??i. 

She  is  afraid  to  see  thee  soberly  thinking  of  leaving 
her,  and  entering  the  path  of  life  ;  therefore  her  ways 
are  moveable.  She  multiplies  devices,  she  studies  a 
thousand  new  wiles,  she  has  some  sweet  word  for  every 
sense — obsequience  for  thy  pride,  praise  for  thy  vanity, 
generosity  for  thy  selfishness,  religion  for  thy  con- 
science, racy  quips  for  thy  wearisomeness,  spicy  scan- 
dal for   thy  curiosity.     She  is  never  still,  nor  the  same  ; 


THE      STRANGE      WOMAN.  151 

but  evolving  as  many  shapes  as  a  rolling  cloud,  and  as 
many  colors  as  dress  the  wide  prairie. 

IV.     Having  disclosed  her  wiles,  let   me  show  you 
what  God  says  of  the  chances  of  escape  to  those  who 
once  follow  her :     Nona  that  go  unto  her  return  again, 
neither  take  they  hold  of  the  paths  of  life.     The  strength 
of  this  language   was  not  meant  absolutely  to,  exclude 
hope   from   those  who,  having  wasted   their  substance  in 
riotous  living,  would  yet  return  ;  but  to   warn  the  un- 
fallen,  into   what  an  almost  hopeless  gulf  they  plunge,  if 
they  venture.     Some  may  escape — as  here  and  there  a 
mangled  sailor  crawls  out  of  the  water  upon  the  beach, 
— the   only  one  or  two  of  the  whole  crew ;  the  rest  are 
gurgling  in  the  wave  with  impotent  struggles,  or  already 
sunk  to  the  bottom.     There  are  many  evils  which  hold 
their  victims   by  the  force  of  habit;    there    are    others 
which  fasten  them  by  breaking  their  return  to  society. 
Many  a  person   never  reforms,  because  reform  would 
bring  no  relief.     There  are  other  evils  which  hold  men 
to   them,  because  they  are  like   the  beginning  of  a  fire  ; 
they  tend  to  burn  with  fiercer  and  wider  flames,  until 
all    fuel    is  consumed,  and  go  out  only  when    there    is 
nothing  to   burn.     Of  this  last  kind  is  the  sin   of  licen- 
tiousness :  and  when  the  conflagration   once   breaks  out, 
experience  has  shown,  what  the  Bible  long  ago  declared, 
that  the  chances  of  reformation  are  almost  none.     The 
certainty  of  continuance  is  so  great,  that  the  chances  of 
escape  are  dropped  from  the  calculation ;  and  it  is   said 
roundly,  none  that  go  unto  her  return  again. 

V.     We  are  repeatedly  warned  against  the  strange 
woman's  house. 

There  is  no  vice  like  licentiousness,  to  delude  with  the 


152  THE      STRANGE      AV0  3IAN. 

most  fascinating  proflers  of  delight,  and  fulfill  the  promise 
with  the  most  loathsome  experience.  All  vices  at  the 
beginning  are  silver-tongued,  but  none  so  impassioned 
as  this.  All  vices  in  the  end  cheat  their  dupes,  but  none 
with  such  overwhelming  disaster  as  licentiousness.  I 
shall  describe  by  an  allegory,  its  specious  seductions, 
its  plausible  promises,  its  apparent  innocence,  its  delu- 
sive safety,  its  deceptive  joys, — their  change,  their  sting, 
their  flight,  their  misery,  and  the  victim's  ruin. 

Her  HOUSE  has  been  cunningly  planned  by  an  evil 
ARCHITECT  to  attract  and  please  the  attention.  It  stands 
in  a  vast  garden  full  of  enchanting  objects.  It  shines 
in  glowing  colors,  and  seems  full  of  peace  and  full  of 
pleasure.  All  the  signs  are  of  unbounded  enjoyment — 
safe,  if  not  innocent.  Though  every  beam  is  rotten, 
and  the  house  is  the  house  of  death,  and  in  it  are  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  infernal  misery  ;  yet,  to  the  young  it  ap- 
pears a  palace  of  delight.  They  will  not  belj^ve  that 
death  can  lurk  behind  so  brilliant  a  fabric.  Those  who 
are  within,  look  out  and  pine  to  return  ;  and  those  who 
are  without,  look  in  and  pine  to  enter.  Such  is  the  mas- 
tery of  deluding  sin. 

That  part  of  the  garden  which  borders  on  the  high- 
way of  innocence  is  carefully  planted.  There  is  not  a 
poison-weed,  nor  thorn,  nor  thistle  there.  Ten  thou- 
sand flowers  bloom,  and  waft  a  thousand  odors.  A  vic- 
tim cautiously  inspects  it ;  but  it  has  been  too  carefully 
patterned  upon  innocency  to  be  easily  detected.  This 
outer  garden  is  innocent ; — innocence  is  the  lure  to  wile 
you  from  the  patii  into  her  grounds  ; — innocence  is  the 
bait  of  that  trap  by  which  she  has  secured  all  her  vic- 
tims.     At   the   gate    stands    a   comely    porter,    saying 


THE      STRANGE     AVOM  AN.  153 

blandly  :  W/ioso  is  simple  ht  liim  turn  in  hither.  Will 
the  youth  enter  ?  Will  he  seek  her  house  ?  To  himself 
he  says,  'I  will  enter  only  to  see  the  garden, — its  fruits, 
its  flowers,  its  birds,  its  arbors,  its  warbling  fountains  !' 
He  is  resolved  in  virtue.  He  seeks  wisdom,  not  pleas- 
ure ! — Dupe!  you  are  deceived  already;  and  this  is 
your  first  lesson  of  wisdom..  He  passes,  and  the  porter 
leers  behind  him  !  He  is  within  an  Enchanter's  garden  ! 
Can  he  not  now  return,  if  he  wishes  ? — he  will  not  wish 
to  return,  until  it  is  too  late.  He  ranges  the  outer  gar- 
den near  to  the  highway,  thinking  as  he  walks:  'how 
foolishly  have  I  been  alarmed  at  pious  lies  about  this 
beautiful  place  !  I  heard  it  was  Hell :  1  find  it  is  Para- 
dise!' 

Emboldened  by  the  innocency  of  his  first  steps,  he 
explores  the  garden  further  from  the  road.  The  flow- 
ers grow  richer ;  their  odors  exhilarate  ;  the  very  fruit 
breathes  perfume  like  flowers;  and  birds  seem  intoxi- 
cated with  delight  among  the  fragrant  shrubs  and  loaded 
trees.  Soft  and  silvery  music  steals  along  the  air.  '  Are 
angels  singing  ? — Oh  !  fool  that  I  was,  to  fear  this  place  ; 
it  is  all  the  heaven  I  need  !  Ridiculous  priest,  to  tell  me 
that  death  was  here,  where  all  is  beauty,  fragrance,  and 
melody !  Surely,  death  never  lurked  in  so  gorgeous 
apparel  as  this!  Death  is  grim,  and  hideous!'  He  has 
come  near  to  the  strange  woman's  House.  If  it  was 
beautiful  from  afar,  it  is  celestial  now  ;  for  his  eyes  are 
bewitched  with  magic.  When  our  passions  enchant  us, 
how  beautiful  is  the  way  to  death  !  In  every  window 
are  sights  of  pleasure  ;  from  every  opening,  issue  sounds 
of  joy — the  lute,  the  harp,  bounding  feet,  and  echoing 
laugliter.     Nymphs  have  descried  this  Pilgrim  of  tempta- 


154  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

tion  ; — they  smile  and  beckon.  Where  are  his  resolutions 
now  ?  This  is  the  virtuous  youth  who  came  to  observe  ! 
He  lias  already  seen  too  much !  but  he  will  see  more  ; 
he  will  taste,  feel,  regret,  weep,  wail,  die  !  The  most 
beautiful  nymph  that  eye  ever  rested  on,  approaches 
with  decent  guise  and  modest  gesture,  to  give  him  hos- 
pitable welcome.  For  a  moment  he  recalls  his  home,  his 
mother,  his  sister-circle  ;  but  they  seem  far-away,  dim, 
powerless !  Into  his  ear  the  beautiful  herald  pours  the 
sweetest  sounds  of  love :  '  you  are  welcome  here,  and 
worthy  !  You  have  early  wisdom,  to  break  the  bonds 
of  superstition,  and  to  seek  these  grounds  where  summer 
never  ceases,  and  sorrow  never  comes !  Hail  !  and 
welcome  to  the  House  of  pleasure  !'  There  seemed  to 
be  a  response  to  these  words  ;  the  house,  the  trees,  and 
the  very  air,  seemed  to  echo,  '  Hail  !  and  welcome  ! ' 
In  the  stillness  which  followed,  had  the  victim  been  less 
intoxicated,  he  might  have  heard  a  clear  and  solemn 
voice  which  seemed  to  fall  straight  down  from  heaven  : 
Come    not    nigh  the  door   of  her  house.     Her    house 

IS     the      WAV      TO     HELL,     GOING     DOWN     TO     THE     CHAMBERS 
OF  DEATH  ! 

It  is  too  late  !  He  has  gone  in, — who  shall  never  re- 
turn. He  goeth  after  her  straitway  as  an  ox  goelh  to  the 
slaughter;  or  as  a  fool  to  the  correction  of  the  stocks  .  .  . 
and  knoioeth  not  that  it  is  for  his  life. 

Enter  with  me,  in  imagination,  the  strange  woman's 
House — where,  God  grant  you  may  never  enter  in  any 
other  way.  There  are  five  wards — Pleasure,  Satiety, 
Discovery,  Disease,  and  Death. 

Ward  of  Pleasure.— The  eye  is  dazzled  with  the  mag- 
nificence of  its  apparel, — elastic  velvet,  glossy  silks,  bur- 


THE      STRANGE      WOMAN.  155 

nished  satin,  crimson  drapery,  plushy  carpets.  Exquisite 
pictures  glow  upon  the  walls,  carved  marble  adorns  every 
niche.  The  inmates  are  deceived  by  these  lying  shows  ; 
they  dance,  they  sing;  with  beaming  eyes  they  utter  sof- 
test strains  of  flattery  and  graceful  compliment.  They 
partake  the  amorous  wine,  and  the  repast  which  loads 
the  table.  They  eat,  they  drink,  they  are  lithe  and  mer- 
ry. Surely,  they  should  be  ;  for  after  this  brief  hour,  they 
shall  never  know  purity  nor  joy  again  !  For  this  mo- 
ment's revelry,  they  are  selling  heaven  !  The  strange 
woman  walks  among  her  guests  in  all  her  charms  ;  fans 
the  flame  of  joy,  scatters  grateful  odors,  and  urges  on 
the  fatal  revehy.  As  her  poisoned  wine  is  quafl'ed,  and 
the  gay  creatures  begin  to  reel,  the  torches  wane  and 
cast  but  a  twilight.  One  by  one,  the  guests  grow  som- 
nolent ;  and,  at  length,  they  all  repose.  Their  cup  is 
exhausted,  their  pleasure  is  forever  over,  life  has  exhaled 
to  an  essence,  and  that  is  consumed  !  While  they  sleep, 
servitors,  practiced  to  the  work,  remove  them  all  to  ano- 
ther Ward. 

Ward  of  Satiety. — Here  reigns  a  bewildering  twi- 
light through  which  can  hardly  be  discerned  the  wearied 
inmates,  yet  sluggish  upon  their  couches.  Oerflushed 
with  dance,  sated  with  wine  and  fruit,  a  fitful  drowsi- 
ness vexes  them.  They  wake,  to  crave  ;  they  taste,  to 
loathe ;  they  sleep,  to  dream  ;  they  wake  again  from 
unquiet  visions.  They  long  for  the  sharp  taste  of  plea- 
sure, so  grateful  yesterday.  Again  they  sink,  repining, 
to  sleep  ;  by  starts,  they  rouse  at  an  ominous  dream  ; 
by  starts,  they  hear  strange  cries  !  The  fruit  burns  and 
torments ;  the  wine  shoots  sharp  pains  through  their 
pulse.     Strange  wonder  fills  them.     They  remember  the 


156  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

recent  joy,  as  a  reveller  in  the  morning  thinks  of  his 
midnight-madness.  The  glowing  garden  and  the  ban- 
quet now  seem  all  stripped  and  gloomy.  They  meditate 
return;  pensively  they  long  for  their  native  spot!  At 
sleepless  moments,  mighty  resolutions  form, — substantial 
as  a  dream.  Memory  grows  dark.  Hope  will  not 
shine.  The  past  is  not  pleasant;  the  present  is  weari- 
some ;  and  the  future  gloomy. 

The  ward  of  Discovery. — In  the  third  ward  no  decep- 
tion remains.  The  floors  are  bare  ;  the  naked  walls  drip 
filth ;  the  air  is  poisonous  with  sickly  fumes,  and  echos 
with  mirth  concealing  hideous  misery.  None  supposes 
that  he  has  been  happy..  The  past  seems  like  the 
dream  of  a  miser,  who  gathers  gold  spilled  like  rain 
upon  the  road,  and  wakes,  clutching  his  bed,  and  crying 
'where  is  it?'  On  your  right  hand,  as  you  enter,  close 
by  the  door,  is  a  group  of  fierce  felons  in  deep  drink 
with  drugged  liquor.  With  red  and  swoln  faces,  or 
white  and  thin ;  or  scarred  with  ghastly  corruption ; 
with  scowling  brows,  baleful  eyes,  bloated  lips  and  de- 
moniac grins ; — in  person  all  uncleanly,  in  morals  all 
debauched,  in  peace,  bankrupt — the  desperate  wretches 
wrangle  with  each  other,  swearing  bitter  oaths,  and 
heaping  reproaches  each  upon  each  !  Around  the  room 
you  see  miserable  creatures  unappareled,  or  dressed  in 
rags,  sobbing  and  moaning.  That  one  who  gazes  out 
at  the  window,  calling  for  her  mother  and  weeping,  was 
right  tenderly  and  purely  bred.  She  has  been  baptised 
twice, — once  to  God, and  once  to  the  Devil.  She  sought 
this  place  in  the  very  vestments  of  God's  house.  'Call 
not  on  thy  mother!  she  is  a  saint  in  Heaven,  and 
cannot  hear  thee!'     Yet,  all  night  long  she  dreams  of 


THE      STRANG  K     AV  O  M  A  N  .  157 

home,  and   ciiildhoocl,  nnd  wakes  to  sigh  and  weep  ;  and 
between  her  sobs,  she  cries  'mother!  mother!' 

Yonder  is  a  youth,  once  a  servant  at  God's  altar. 
His  hair  hangs  tangled  and  torn  ;  his  eyes  are  blood- 
shot ;  his  face  is  livid  ;  his  fist  is  clenched.  All  the  day, 
he  wanders  up  and  down,  cursing  sometimes  himself,  and 
sometimes  the  wretch  that  brought  him  hither ;  and 
when  he  sleeps,  he  dreams  of  Hell ;  and  then  he  wakes 
to  feel  all  he  dreamed.  Tiiis  is  the  Ward  of  reality. 
All  know  why  the  first  rooms  looked  so  gay — they  were 
enchanted  !  It  was  enchanted  wine  they  drank ;  and 
enchanted  fruit  they  ate :  now  they  know  the  pain  of 
fatal  food  in  every  limb  ! 

Ward  of  Disease. — Ye  that  look  wistfully  at  the 
pleasant  front  of  this  terrific  house,  come  with  me  now, 
and  look  long  into  the  terror  of  this  Ward ;  for  here  are 
the  seeds  of  sin  in  their  full  harvest  form  !  We  are  in 
a  lazar-room  ;  its  air  oppresses  every  sense  ;  its  sights 
confound  our  thoughts  ;  its  sounds  pierce  our  ear ;  its 
stench  I'epels  us :  it  is  full  of  diseases.  Here  a  shud- 
dering wretch  is  clawing  at  his  breast,  to  tear  away  that 
worm  which  gnaws  his  heart.  By  him  is  another, 
whose  limbs  are  dropping  from  his  ghastly  trunk.  Next, 
swelters  another  in  reeking  filth ;  his  eyes  rolling  in 
bony  sockets,  every  breath  a  pang,  and  every  pang  a 
groan.  But  yonder,  on  a  pile  of  rags,  lies  one  whose 
yells  of  frantic  agony  appal  every  ear.  Clutching  his 
rags  with  spasmodic  grasp,  his  swoln  tongue  lolling  from 
a  blackened  mouth,  his  bloodshot  eyes  glaring  and  roll- 
ing, he  shrieks  oaths ;  now  blaspheming  God,  and  now 
imploring  him.  He  hoots  and  shouts,  and  shakes  his 
grisly  head  from  side  to  side,  cursing  or  praying ;  now 
14 


158  THE     STRANGE     WOMAN. 

calling  death,  and  then,  as  if  driving  away  fiends,  yelling 
avaunt !  avaunt ! 

Another  has  been  ridden  by  pain,  until  he  can  no  lon- 
ger shriek  ;  but  lies  foaming  and  grinding  his  teeth,  and 
clenching  his  bony  hands,  until  the  nails  pierce  the  palm — 
though  there  is  no  blood  there  to  issue  out — trembling 
all  the  time  with  the  shudders  and  chills  of  utter   agony. 
The  happiest  wretch  in  all    this  Ward,  is  an  Idiot; — 
dropsical,  distorted,  and  moping  ;  all   day  he   wags  his 
head,  and  chatters,  and  laughs,  and  bites  his  nails  ;  then 
he  will  sit  for  hours  motionless,   with  open   jaw,  and 
glassy  eye  fixed  on  vacancy.     In  this  ward  are  huddled 
all  the  diseases  of  pleasure.     This  is  the  torture-room 
of  the  strange  woman's  House,  and  it  excels   the  Inqui- 
sition.    The    wheel,    the    rack,  the   bed  of  knives,  the 
roasting  fire,  the  brazen  room  slowly  heated,  the  slivers 
driven  under  the  nails,  the  hot  pincers, — what  are  these 
to  the  agonies  of  the  last  days  of  licentious  vice  ?     Hun- 
dreds of  rotting  wretches  would   change  their  couch  of 
torment  in  the  strange  woman's  House,  for  the  gloomi- 
est terror  of  the  Inquisition,  and  profit  by  the  change. 
Nature  herself  becomes   the  tormentor.     Nature,  long 
trespassed  on  and    abused,  at   length   casts   down   the 
wretch  ;    searches   every   vein,  makes  a  road  of  every 
nerve  for  the  scorching  feet  of  pain  to  travel  on,  pulls 
at  every  muscle,  breaks  in  the  breast,  builds  fires  in  the 
brain,  eats  out  the  skin,  and  casts  living  coals  of  torment 
on  the  heart.     What  are  hot  pincers  to  the  envenomed 
claws  of  disease?     What  is   it  to  be  put  into  a  pit  of 
snakes  and  slimy  toads,  and  feel  their  cold  coil  or  pierc- 
ing fang,  to  the   creeping  of  a  whole  body  of  vipers  ? — 
where  every  nerve  is  a  viper,  and   every  vein  a  viper, 


THE      STRANGE     AV  O  M  A  N  .  1  59 

and  every  muscle  a  serpent ;  and  the  whole  body,  in  all 
its  parts,  coils  and  twists  upon  itself  in  unimaginable 
anguish  ?  I  tell  you,  there  is  no  Inquisition  so  bad 
a^  that  which  the  Doctor  looks  upon  !  Young  man  !  1 
can  shew  you  in  this  Ward  worse  pangs  than  ever  a 
savage  produced  at  the  stake  ! — than  ever  a  tyrant 
wrung  out  by  engines  of  torment! — than  ever  an  In- 
quisitor devised  !  Every  year,  in  every  town,  die 
wretches  scalded  and  scorched  with  agony.  Were  the 
sum  of  all  the  pain  that  comes  with  the  last  stages  of 
vice  collected,  it  would  rend  the  very  heavens  with  its 
outcry ;  would  shake  the  earth ;  would  blanch  the  very 
cheek  of  Hell  !  Ye  that  are  listening  in  the  garden  of 
this  strange  woman,  among  her  cheating  flow^ers ;  ye 
that  are  dancing  in  her  halls  in  the  first  Ward,  come 
hither ;  look  upon  her  fourth  Ward— its  vomited  blood, 
its  sores  and  fiery  blotches,  its  prurient  sweat,  its  dis- 
solving ichor,  and  rotten  bones !  Stop,  young  man ! 
You  turn  your  head  from  this  ghastly  room ;  and  yet, 
stop  ! — and  stop  soon,  or  thou  shalt  lie  here  !  Mark  the 
solemn  signals  of  thy  passage  !  Thou  hast  had  already 
enough  of  warnings  in  thy  cheek,  in  thy  bosom,  in  thy 
pangs  of  premonition  ! 

But  ah  !  every  one  of  you  who  are  dancing  with  the 
covered  paces  of  death,  in  the  strange  woman's  first  hall, 
let  me  break  your  spell ;  for  now  I  shall  open  the  doors 
of  the  last  Ward.  Look  ! — Listen  '.—Witness  your  own 
end,  unless  you  take  quickly  a  warning ! 

Ward  of  Death. — No  longer  does  the  incarnate  wretch 
pretend  to  conceal  her  cruelty.  She  shoves — aye  !  as  if 
they  were  dirt — she  shovels  out  the  wretches.  Some  fall 
headlong  through  the  rotten  floor,— a  long  fall  to  a  fiery 


160  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

bottom.  The  floor  trembles  to  deep  thunders  which  roll 
below.  Here  and  there,  jets  of  flame  spout  up,  and  give 
a  lurid  light  to  the  murky  hall.  Some  would  fain  es- 
cape ;  and  flying  across  the  treacherous  floor,  which 
man  never  safely  passed,  they  go  through  pitfalls  and 
treacherous  traps,  with  hideous  outcries  and  astounding 
yells  !  Fiends  laugh  !  The  infernal  laugh,  the  ciy  of 
agony,  the  thunder  of  damnation,  shake  the  very  roof 
and  echo  from  wall  to  wall. 

Oh  !  that  the  young  might  see  the  end  of  vice  be- 
fore they  see  the  beginning !  1  know  that  you  shrink 
from  this  picture ;  but  your  safety  requires  that  you 
should  look  long  into  the  Ward  of  Death,  that  fear  may 
supply  strength  to  your  virtue.  See  the  blood  oozing 
from  the  wall,  the  fiery  hands  which  pluck  the  wretches 
down,  the  light  of  hell  gleaming  through,  and  hear  its 
roar  as  of  a  distant  ocean  chafed  w^ith  storms.  Will 
you  sprinkle  the  wall  with  your  blood  ? — will  you  feed 
those  flames  with  your  flesh  ? — will  you  add  your  voice 
to  those  thundering  wails  1 — will  you  go  down  a  prey 
through  the  fiery  floor  of  the  chamber  of  death?  Be- 
lieve then  the  word  of  God  :  Her  house  is  the  way  to 
Hell,  going  down  to  the  chambers  of  death,  .  .  .  avoid  it, 
pass  not  by  it,  turn  fro7Ji  it,  and  pass  away  ! 

I  have  described  the  strange  woman's  House  in  strong 
language,  and  it  needed  it.  If  your  taste  shrinks  from 
the  description,  so  does  mine.  Hell,  and  all  the  ways  to 
Hell,  when  we  pierce  the  cheating  disguises  and  see 
the  truth,  are  terrible  and  trying  to  behold  ;  and  if  men 
would  not  walk  there,  neither  would  we  pursue  their 
steps,' to  sound  the  alarm,  and  gather  back  whom  we 
can. 


THE      STRANGE      WOMAN.  161 

Allow  me  to  close  by  directing  your  attention  to  a 
few  points  of  especial  danger. 

I.  I  solemnly  warn  you  against  indulging  a  morbid  im- 
agination. In  that  busy  and  mischievous  faculty  begins 
the  evil.  Were  it  not  for  his  airy  imaginations,  man 
might  stand  his  own  master — not  overmatched  by  the 
worst  part  of  himself.  But  ah  !  these  summer-reveries, 
these  venturesome  dreams,  these  fairy  castles  builded  for 
no  good  purposes, — they  are  haunted  by  impure  spirits 
who  will  fascinate,  bewitch,  and  corrupt  you.  Blessed 
are  the  pure  in  heart.  Blessed  art  thou,  jnost  favored  of 
God,  whose  thoughts  are  chastened;  whose  imagination 
will  not  breathe  or  fly  in  tainted  air ;  and  whose  path 
has  been  measured  by  the  golden  reed  of  Purity. 

May  I  not  paint  Purity,  as  a  saintly  virgin,  in  spot- 
less white,  walking  with  open  face,  in  an  air  so  clear 
that  no  vapor  can  stain  it. 

"Upon  her  lightning-brow  love  proudly  sitting. 
Flames  out  in  power,  shines  out  in  majesty." 

Her  steps  are  a  queen's  steps ;  God  is  her  father  and 
thou  her  brother,  if  thou  wilt  make  her  thine  !  Let  thy 
heart  be  her  dwelling;  wear  upon  thy  hand  her  ring, 
and  on  thy  breast  her  talisman. 

II.  Next  to  evil  imaginations,  I  warn  the  young  of 
evil  companions.  Decaying  fruit  corrupts  the  neighbor- 
ing fruit.  You  cannot  touch  pitch  and  be  undefiled. 
You  cannot  make  your  head  a  metropolis  of  base  stories, 
the  ear  and  tongue  a  highway  of  immodest  words,  and 
yet  be  pure.  Another,  as  well  as  yourself,  may  throw 
a  spark  on  the  magazine  of  your  passions — beware  how 
your  companions  do  it !  No  man  is  your  friend  who 
14* 


162  THE      STRANGE      AV  O  31  A  N  . 

will  corrupt  you.  An  impure  man  is  every  good  man's 
enemy — your  deadly  foe  ;  and  all  the  worse,  if  he  hide 
his  poisoned  dagger  under  the  cloak  of  good  fellowship. 
Therefore,  select  your  associates,  assort  them,  winnow 
them,  keep  the  grain,  and  let  the  wind  sweep  the  chaff. 

III.  But  I  warn  you,  with  yet  more  solemn  emphasis, 
against  evil  books  and  evil  pictures.  There  is  in  every 
town  an  undercurrent  which  glides  beneath  our  feet  un- 
suspected by  the  pure  ;  out  of  which,  notwithstanding, 
our  sons  scoop  many  a  goblet.  Books  are  hidden  in 
trunks,  concealed  in  dark  holes ;  pictures  are  stored  in 
sly  portfolios,  or  trafficked  from  hand  to  hand ;  and  the 
handiwork  of  depraved  art  is  seen  in  other  f(jrms  which 
ought  to  make  a  harlot  blush. 

I  should  think  a  man  would  loathe  himself,  and  wake 
up  from  owning  such  things  as  from  a  horrible  nightmare. 
Those  who  circulate  them  are  incendiaries  of  morality  ; 
those  who  make  them,  equal  the  worst  public  criminals.  A 
pure  heart  would  shrink  from  these  abominable  things  as 
from  death.  France,  where  religion  long  ago  went  out 
smothered  in  licentiousness,  has  flooded  the  world  with 
a  species  of  literature  redolent  of  depravity.  Upon  the 
plea  of  exhibiting  nature  and  man,  novels  are  now 
scooped  out  of  the  very  lava  of  corrupt  passions.  They 
are  true  to  nature,  but  to  nature  as  it  exists  in  knaves 
and  courtezans; — true,  where  luxury  and  license  have 
called  to  their  aid,  art,  taste,  literature,  and  ingenuity,  to 
pervert  the  delicacy  of  pure  feeling,  and  stram  it  to 
the  extravagancies  of  corrupt  sentimentalism.  Under  a 
plea  of  humanity,  we  have  shown  up  to  us  troops  of  har- 
lots, to  prove  that  they  are  not  so  bad  as  purists  think  : 
gangs  of  desperadoes,  to   show   that  there  is  nothing  in 


THE     STRANGE      WOMAN.  163 

crime   inconsistent  witli  the  noblest  feelings.      We  have 
in   French    and    English  novels  of  the  infernal    school, 
humane    murderers,  lascivious  saints,  holy  infidels,  hon- 
est  robbers.      These    artists   never   seem    lost,    except 
when    straining   after  a  conception  of  religion.     Their 
devotion    is    such    as    might   be    expected   from  thieves, 
in  the  purlieus  of  thrice-deformed  vice.     Their  Deity  is 
to  God,  about  what  Jupiter  or  Juggernaut  is  to  Jehovah. 
Exhausted   libertines    are    our    professors    of    morality. 
They  scrape  the  very  sediment  and  muclc  of  society  to 
mould  their  creatures ;  and   their  volumes  are  monster- 
galleries,  in  which  the  inhabitants  of  old  Sodom  would  have 
felt  at  home    as  connoisseurs  and   critics.     Over  loath- 
some women,  and  unutterably  vile  men,  huddled  together 
in  motley  groups,  and  over  all  their  monstrous  deeds,  their 
lies,  their    plots,   their  crimes,  their  dreadful  pleasures, 
their   glorying   conversation,  is    thrown    the    checkered 
light   of  a   hot   imagination,   until    they    glow   with    an 
infernal  lustre.     Novels  of  the  French  school,  and   of 
English  imitators,  are   the    common-sewers    of  society, 
into  which  drain  the  concentrated  filth  of  the  worst  pas- 
sions of  the  worst  creatures  of  the  worst  cities.     Such 
novels  come  to  us  impudently   pretending  to  be  refor- 
mers of  morals  and  liberalizers    of  religion  ;    they  pro- 
pose to  instruct  our  laws,  and  teach  a  discreet  humanity 
to  justice  !     The  Ten  Plagues  have  visited  our  literature  ; 
wjiter  is  turned  to  blood;   frogs  and  lice  creep  and  hop 
over  our  most  familiar  things, — the  couch,  the  cradle,  and 
the  bread-trough  ;  locusts,  murrain,  and  fire,  are  smiting 
every  green  thing.     We  are   disgracing  our  tongue,  by 
translating  into   it  the  novel-literature  of  France.     I  am 
ashamed  and  outraged  when  1  think  that  wretches  could 


.-:i 


164  THE      STRANGE      WOMAN. 

be  found  to  open  these  foreign  seals,  and  let  out  their 
plagues  upon  us — that  any  Satanic  Pilgrim  should  voyage 
to  France  to  dip  from  the  dead  sea  of  her  abomina- 
tion, a  baptism  for  our  sons.  It  were  a  mercy  to  this, 
to  import  serpents  from  Africa  and  pour  them  out  on 
our  prairies  ;  lions  from  Asia,  and  free  them  in  our  for- 
ests ;  lizards  and  scorpions  and  black  tarantulas,  from 
the  Indies,  and  put  them  in  our  gardens.  Men  could 
slay  these,  but  those  oflspring-reptiles  of  the  French 
mind,  who  can  kill  these?  You  might  as  well  draw 
sword  on  a  plague,  or  charge  a  malaria  with  the  bayo- 
net. This  black-lettered  literature  circulates  in  this 
town,  fioats  in  our  stores,  nestles  in  the  shops,  is  finger- 
ed and  read  nightly,  and  hatches  in  the  young  miud 
broods  of  salacious  thoughts.  While  the  parent  strives 
to  infuse  Christian  purity  into  his  child's  heart,  he  is  an- 
ticipated by  most  accursed  messengers  of  evil ;  and  the 
heart  hisses  already  like  a  nest  of  young  and  nimble 
vipers. 

IV.  Once  more,  let  me  persuade  you  that  no  exam- 
ples in  high  places,  can  justify  imitation  in  low  places. 
Your  purity  is  too  precious  to  be  bartered,  because  an 
official  knave  tempts  by  his  example.  I  would  that 
every  eminent  place  of  state  were  a  sphere  of  light, 
from  which  should  be  flung  down  on  your  path  a  cheer- 
ing glow  to  guide  you  on  to  virtue.  But  if  these  wan- 
dering stars,  reserved  I  do  believe  for  final  blackness  of 
darkness,  wheel  their  malign  spheres  in  the  orbits  of 
corruption, — go  not  after  thenl.  God  is  greater  than 
wicked  great  men  ;  Heaven  is  higher  than  the  highest 
places  of  nations ;  and  if  God  and  Heaven  are  not 
brighter  to  your  eyes   than  great  men  in  high  places, 


TflE     STRANGE     WOMAN.  165 

then  you  must  take  part  in  tlieir  doom,  when,  ere  long, 
God  shall  dash  them  to  pieces  ! 

V.  Let  me  beseech  you,  lastly,  to  guard  your  heart- 
purity.  Never  lose  it ;  if  it  be  gone,  you  have  lost 
from  the  casket  the  most  precious  gift  of  God.  The 
first  purity  of  imagination,  of  thought,  and  of  feeling,  if 
soiled,  can  be  cleansed  by  no  fuller's  soap  ;  if  lost,  can- 
not be  found,  though  sought  carefully  with  tears.  If  a 
harp  be  broken,  art  may  repair  it ;  if  a  light  be  quenched, 
the  flame  may  enkindle  it ;  but  if  a  flower  be  crushed, 
what  art  can  repair  it  ? — if  an  odor  be  wafted  away, 
who  can  collect  or  bring  it  back  ? 

The  heart  of  youth  is  a  wide  prairie.  Over  it  hang 
the  clouds  of  heaven  to  water  it,  the  sun  throws  its 
broad  sheets  of  light  upon  it,  to  wake  its  life  ;  out  of 
its  bosom  spring,  the  long  season  through,  flowers  of  a 
hundred  names  and  hues,  twining  together  their  lovely 
forms,  wafting  to  each  other  a  grateful  odor,  and  nod- 
ding each  to  each  in  the  summer-breeze.  Oh !  such 
would  man  be,  did  he  hold  that  purity  of  heart  which 
God  gave  him  !  But  you  have  a  depraved  heart.  It  is 
a  vast  continent;  on  it  are  mountain-ranges  of  powers, 
and  dark  deep  streams,  and  pools,  and  morasses.  If 
once  the  full  and  terrible  clouds  of  temptation  do  settle 
thick  and  fixedly  upon  you,  and  begin  to  cast  down  their 
dreadful  stores,  may  God  save  whom  man  can  never! 
Then  the  heart  shall  feel  tides  and  slrean)S  of  irresisti- 
ble power,  mocking  its  control,  and  hurrying  liercely 
down  from  steep  to  steep,  with  growing  desolation. 
Your  only  resource  is  to  avoid  the  uprising  of  your  giant- 
passions. 


-^^ 


166  THE     STRANGE     AV  O  M  A  N  . 

We  are  drawing  near  to  a  festival  day,*  by  the  usage 
of  ages,  consecrated  to  celebrate  the  birth  of  Christ.  At 
his  advent,  God  hung  out  a  prophetic  star  in  the  heaven ; 
guided  by  it,  the  wise  men  journeyed  from  the  east  and 
worshipped  at  his  feet.  Oh  !  let  the  star  of  Purity  hang 
out  to  thine  eye,  brighter  than  the  orient  orb  to  the 
Magi ;  let  it  lead  thee,  not  to  the  Babe,  but  to  His  feet 
who  now  stands  in  Heaven,  a  Prince  and  Savior !  If 
thou  hast  sinned,  one  look,  one  touch,  shall  cleanse  thee 
whilst  thou  art  worshipping,  and  thou  shalt  rise  up 
healed. 

Note.— Tlie  exceptions  taken  to  the  cnrrent  reformation-novels  of  Godwin, 
Bulwer,  Dickens,  (perhaps.)  Eugene  Sue,  and  a  host  of  others,  requires  a 
word  of  explanation.  1.  We  do  not  object  to  any  reasonable  effort  at  reform- 
ation, moral,  social,  civil,  or  economical — much  is  needed.  So  far,  the  design 
of  this  school  of  Romancers  is  praiseworthy.  2.  But  we  doubt  the  propriety 
of  employing  fictions  as  an  instrument;  especially  fictions  wrought  to  produce 
a  stage-eflect,  a  violent  thrill,  rather  than  a  conviction.  These  works  affect 
the  ^feelings  more  than  the  opinions.  3.  Nine  tenths  of  novel -readers  are  the 
young,  the  unreflecting,  or  those  whose  hearts  have  been  macadamised  by  the 
incessant  tramping  often  times  ten  thousand  heroes  and  heroines,  marching 
across  their  feelings.  Efforts  at  reformation  should  be  directed  to  other  read- 
ers than  these.  4.  But  the  worst  is  yet  to  be  told.  Under  the  pretence  of 
social  reformations,  the  most  flagitious  vices  are  inculcated.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  of  it.  An  analysis  of  the  best  characters  would  give  pride,  lawlessness, 
passion,  revenge,  lusts,  hypocricies;  in  short,  a  catalogue  of  vices.  Eugene 
Sue  seeks  to  raise  the  operatives,  to  shew  the  ruinous  partiality  of  law,  the 
hideous  evils  of  prisons,  &c.  &c.  The  design  appears  well.  What  part  of 
this  design  are  the  constant  arid  deliberate  lies  of  Rodolphe,  the  hero  ?  This 
wandering  prince  coolly  justifies  himself  in  putting  out  a  man's  eyes,  because 
the  law  would  slay  him  if  delivered  up  I — provides  means  for  decoying  con- 
victs from  prisons! — sets  on  foot  atrocious  deceptions,  to  crush  deceptions! — 
This  is  the  best  character.  Unquestionably  the  purest  woman  is  Goualeuse. 
redeemed  from  prostitution  !  Madame  Lucenay  lives  in  unblushing  adultery 
with  Saint  Remy,  who  proves  to  be  a  forger!  "  We  are  edified  by  a  scene  of 
noble  indignation  and  virtue,  in  which  this  woman,  who  has  violated  the  most 
sacred  instincts,  and  all  the  sanctities  of  the  family,  teaches  Remy  his  degra- 
dation for  violating  civil  laws  !  Admirable  reform  !  An  unblushing  adulte- 
ress preaches  so  well  to  her  paramour  forger  !  The  diabolical  voluptuousness 
of  Cecily— the  assignations  of  the  pure  Madame  D"Harville — the  astonishing 
reformations  produced  in  a  single  hour,  in  which  harlots  turn  vestals,  mur- 
derers philanthropists,  poachers  and  marauders  more  honest  than  honest  men 
— these  are  but  specimens  of  the  instnmients  by  which  this  new  and  popular 
reform  is  changing  our  morals,  and  Christianizing  us  !  What  then  shall  be 
said  of  the  works  of  George  Sands,  Masson,  Dumas,  M.  de  Balsac  and 
others  like  them,  by  whose  side  Eugene  Sue  is  an  angel  of  Purity  ? 

*  This  Lecture  was  delivered  upon  Christmas-eve. 


LECTURE    VII. 


Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  thy  youth,  and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee  in 
the  days  of  thy  youth,  and  walk,  in  the  ways  of  thine  heart,  and  in 
the  sight  of  thine  eyes;  but  know  thou,  that  for  all  these  things  God 
will  bring  thee  into  judgment.     Eccl.  xi.  9. 

I  AM  to  venture  the  delicate  task  of  reprehension,  al- 
ways unwelcome,  but  pecuHarly  offensive  upon  topics 
of  public  popular  amusement.  I  am  anxious,  in  the  be- 
ginning, to  put  myself  right  with  the  young.  If  I  satisfy 
myself,  christian  men,  and  the  sober  community,  and  do 
not  satisfy  them^  my  success  will  be  like  a  physician's, 
whose  prescriptions  please  himself,  and  the  relations, 
and  do  good  to  every  body  except  the  patient^ — he  dies. 

Allow  me,  first  of  all,  to  satisfy  you  that  I  am  not  med- 
dling with  matters  which  do  not  concern  me.  This  is 
the  impression  which  the  patrons  and  partners  of  crimi- 
nal amusements  study  to  make. upon  your  minds.  They 
represent  our  duty  to  be  in  the  church., — taking  care 
of  doctrines,  and  of  our  own  members.  When  more 
than  this  is  attempted,  when  we  speak  a  word  for 
you  who  are  not  church-members,  we  are  met  with  the 
surly  answer,  '  Why  do  you  meddle  with  things  which 
don't  concern  you  1    If  you  do  not  enjoy  these  pleasures, 


168  POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS. 

why  do  you  molest  those  who  do  ?  May  not  men  do 
as  they  please  in  a  free  country,  without  being  hung  up 
in  a  gibbet  of  public  remark  V  It  is  conveniently  for- 
gotten, I  suppose,  that  in  a  free  country  we  have  the 
same  right  to  criticise  pleasure,  which  others  have  to 
enjoy  it. — Indeed,  you  and  I  both  know,  young  gentle- 
men, that  in  cofiee-house  circles,  and  in  convivial  feasts 
nocturnal,  the  Church  is  regarded  as  little  better  than  a 
spectacled  old  beldam,  whose  impertinent  eyes  are  spy- 
ing every  body's  business  but  her  own  ;  and  who,  too 
old  or  too  homely  to  be  tempted  herself,  with  compul- 
sory virtue  pouts  at  the  joyous  dalliances  of  the  young 
and  gay.  Religion  is  called  a  nun,  sable  with  gloomy 
vestments ;  and  the  Church  a  cloister,  where  ignorance 
is  deemed  innocence,  and  which  sends  out  querulous  rep- 
rehensions of  a  world,  which  it  knows  nothing  about,  and 
has  professedly  abandoned.  This  is  pretty  ;  and  is  only 
defective,  in  not  being  true.  The  Church  is  not  a  clois- 
ter, nor  her  members  recluses,  nor  are  our  censures  of 
vice  intermeddling.  Not  to  dwell  in  generalities,  let  us 
take  a  plain  and  common  case  : 

A  strolling  company  offer  to  educate  our  youth  ;  and 
to  show  the  community  the  road  of  morality,  which, 
probably  they  have  not  seen  themselves  for  twenty 
years.  We  cannot  help  laughing  at  a  generosity  so 
much  above  one's  means :  and  when  they  proceed  to 
hew  and  hack  each  other  with  rusty  iron,  to  teach  our 
boys  valor;  and  dress  up  practical  mountebanks,  to  teach 
theoretical  virtue  ;  if  we  laugh  somewhat  more,  they 
turn  upon  us  testily  :  Do  you  mind  your  own  business, 
and  leave  us  loith  ours.  We  do  not  interfere  with  your 
preaching,  do  you  let  alone  our  acting. 


POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS.  169 

But  softly — may  not  religious  people  amuse  them- 
selves with  very  diverting  men  ?  I  hope  it  is  not  bigo- 
try to  have  eyes  and  ears :  I  hope  it  is  not  fanaticism, 
in  the  use  of  these  excellent  senses,  for  us  to  judge  that 
throwing  one's  heels  higher  than  their  head  a-dancing, 
is  not  exactly  the  way  to  teach  virtue  to  our  daughters  ; 
and  that  women,  whose  genial  warmth  of  temperament 
has  led  them  into  a  generosity  something  too  great, 
are  not  the  persons  to  teach  virtue,  at  any  rate.  Oh  no  ; 
we  are  told,  Christians  must  not  know  that  all  this  is  very 
singular.  Christians  ought  to  think  that  men  who  are 
kings  and  dukes  and  philosophers  on  the  stage,  are 
virtuous  men,  even  if  they  gamble  all  night,  and  are 
drunk  all  day  ;  and  if  men  are  so  used  to  comedy,  that 
their  life  becomes  a  perpetual  farce  on  morality,  we 
have  no  right  to  laugh  at  this  extra-professional  acting ! 

Are  we  meddlers,  who  only  seek  the  good  of  our  own 
families,  and  of  our  own  community  where  we  live  and 
expect  to  die  ?  or  they,  who  wander  up  and  down  with- 
out ties  of  social  connection,  and  without  aim,  except 
of  money  to  be  gathered  off  from  men's  vices  ? 

1  am  anxious  to  put  all  religious  men  in  their  right 
position  before  you  ;  and  in  this  controversy  between 
them  and  the  gay  world,  to  show  you  the  facts  upon  bofh 
sides.  A  floating  population,  in  pairs  or  companies, 
without  leave  asked,  blow  the  trumpet  for  all  our  youth 
to  flock  to  their  banners  !  Are  they  related  to  them  ? — 
are  they  concerned  in  the  welfare  of  our  town  ? — do 
they  live  among  us  ? — do  they  bear  any  part  of  our  bur- 
dens ? — do  they  care  for  our  substantial  citizens  ?  We 
grade  our  streets,  build  our  schools,  support  all  our 
municipal  laws,  and  the  young  men  are  ours ;  our 
15 


170  POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS. 

sons,  our  brothers,  our  wai'ds,  clerks,  or  apprentices ; 
they  are  living  in  our  houses,  or  stores,  or  shops,  and  we 
are  their  guardians,  and  take  care  of  them  in  health,  and 
watch  them  in  sickness ;  yet  every  vagabond  who  floats 
in  hither,  swears  and  swaggers,  as  if  they  were  all  his  : 
and  when  they  ofler  to  corrupt  all  these  youth,  we  pay- 
ing them  round  sums  of  money  for  it,  and  we  get  courage 
finally  to  say  that  we  had  rather  not;  that  industry  and 
honesty  are  better  than  expert  knavery — they  turn  upon 
us  in  great  indignation  with,  W/ii/  dun't  you  mind  your 
own  business— XL-hat  are  you  meddling  iciih  our  a  fairs 
for  ? 

I  will  suppose  a  case.  With  much  pains-taking,  I 
have  saved  enough  money  to  buy  a  little  garden-spot. 
I  put  all  around  it  a  good  fence — I  cart  in  upon  it  a  gen- 
erous allowance  of  manure — I  put  the  spade  into  it  and 
mellow  the  soil  full  deep  :  I  go  to  the  nursery  and  pick 
out  choice  fruit  trees — I  send  abroad  and  select  the 
best  seeds  of  the  rarest  vegetables ;  and  so  my  garden 
thrives.  I  know  every  inch  of  it,  for  I  have  watered 
every  inch  with  sweat.  One  morning  I  am  awakened 
by  a  mixed  sound  of  sawing,  digging,  and  delving ; 
end  looking  out,  I  see  a  dozen  men  at  work  in  my  gar- 
den. I  run  down  and  find  one  man  sawing  out  a 
huge  hole  in  the  fence  ;  "My  dear  sir,  what  are  you 
doing?"'  "Oh,  this  high  fence  is  very  troublesome  to 
climb  over;  I  am  fixing  an  easier  way  for  folks  to  get 
in."'  Another  man  has  headed  down  several  choice 
trees,  and  is  putting  in  new  grafts.  "Sir,  what  are  you 
changing  the  kind  for?"  "Oh,  this  kind  don't  suit  me; 
I  like  a  new  kind."  One  man  is  digging  up  my  beans, 
to  plant  cockles ;    another  is  rooting  up  my  strawber- 


POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS.  171 

ries,  to  put  in  pursley ;  and  another  is  dfotroying  my 
currants,  and  gooseberries,  and  raspberries,  to  plant 
mustard  and  Jamestown  weed.  At  last,  I  lose  all  pa- 
tience, and  cry  out,  'Well  gentlemen,  this  will  never  do. 
I  will  never  tolerate  this  abominable  imposition  ;  you 
are  ruining  my  garden.'  One  of  them  says,  "  You  old 
hypocritical  bigot !  do  you  mind  your  business,  and  let 
us  enjoy  ourselves.  Take  care  of  your  house,  and  do 
not  pry  into  our  pleasures." 

Fellow  citizens  !  I  own  that  no  man  could  so  invade 
your  garden;  but  men  are  allowed  thus  to  invade  our 
town,  and  destroy  our  children.  You  will  let  them 
evade  your  laws,  to  fleece  and  demoralize  you  ;  and 
you  sit  down  under  their  railing,  as  though  you  were  the 
intruders  ! — ^just  as  if  the  man,  who  drives  a  thief  out 
of  his  house,  ought  to  ask  the  rascal's  pardon  for  in- 
terfering with  his  little  plans  of  pleasure  and  profit ! 

Every  parent  has  a  right — every  citizen  and  every 
minister  has  the  same  right  to  expose  traps,  which  men 
have  to  set  them ;  the  same  right  to  prevent  mischief 
which  men  have  to  plot  it ;  the  same  right  to  attack 
vice  which  vice  has  to  attack  virtue  ;  a  better  right 
to  save  our  sons  and  brothers  and  companions,  than 
artful  men  have  to  destroy  them. 

The  necessity  of  amusement  is  admitted  on  all  hands. 
There  is  an  appetite  of  the  eye,  of  the  ear,  and  of  every 
sense,  for  which  God  has  provided  the  material.  Gaiety 
of  every  degree,  this  side  of  puerile  levity,  is  wholesome 
to  the  body,  to  the  mind,  and  to  the  morals.  Nature  is 
a  vast  repository  of  manly  enjoyments.  The  magni- 
tude of  God's  works  is  not  less  admirable  than  its 
exhilarating  beautv.     The  rudest  forms  have  somethinsr 


172  POPUX-AR      AMUSEMENTS. 

of  beauty ;  the  ruggedest  strength  is  graced  with  some 
charm ;  the  very  pins,  and  rivets,  and  clasps  of  nature, 
are  attractive  by  qualities  of  beauty  more  than  is  neces- 
sary for  mere  utility.  The  sun  could  go  down  without 
gorgeous  clouds  ;  evening  could  advance  v/ithout  its 
evanescent  brilliance  ;  trees  might  have  flourished  with- 
out symmetry  ;  flowers  have  existed  without  odor,  and 
fruit  without  flavor.  When  I  have  journeyed  through 
forests,  where  ten  thousand  shrubs  and  vines  exist 
without  apparent  use ;  through  prairies,  wliose  undula- 
tions exhibit  sheets  of  flowers  innumerable  and  abso- 
lutely dazzling  the  eye  with  their  prodigality  of  beauty — 
beauty,  not  a  tithe  of  which  is  ever  seen  by  man — I 
have  said,  it  is  plain  that  God  made  a  great  many  things 
simply  to  please  Himself.  The  earth  is  his  garden,  as 
an  acre  is  man's.  God  has  made  us  like  Himself,  to  be 
pleased  by  the  universal  "beauty  of  the  world.  He  has 
made  provision  in  nature,  in  society,  and  in  the  family, 
for  amusement  and  exhilaration  enough  to  fill  the  heart 
with  the  perpetual  sunshine  of  delight. 

Upon  this  broad  earth,  purfled  with  flowers,  scented 
with  odors,  brilliant  in  colors,  vocal  with  echoing  and 
re-echoing  melody,  I  take  my  stand  against  all  demor- 
alizing pleasure.  Is  it  not  enough  that  our  Father's 
house  is  so  full  of  dear  delights,  that  we  must  wander 
prodigal  to  the  swine-herd  for  husks,  and  to  the  slough 
for  drink? — when  the  trees  of  God's  heritage  bend  over 
our  head,  and  solicit  our  hand  to  pluck  the  golden  fruit- 
age, must  we  still  go  in  search  of  the  apples  of  Sodom — 
outside  fair,  and  inside  ashes  ? 

Men  shall  crowd  to  the  Circus  to  hear  clowns,  and 
see  rare   feats  of  horsemanship  ;  but  a  bird   may  poise 


POPULAR      AMUSKMENTS.  173 

Lenealli  the  very  sun,  or  flying  downward,  swoop  from 
the  high  iieaven  ;  then  flit  with  graceful  ease  hither  and 
thither,  pouring  liquid  song  as  if  it  were  a  perennial 
fountain  of  sound^no  man  cares  for  that. 

Upon  the  stage  of  life,  the  vastest  tragedies  ^are  per- 
forming in  every  act ;  nations  pitching  headlong  to  their 
final  catastrophe  ;  others,  raising  their  youthful  forms  to 
begin  the  drama  of  their  existence.  The  world  of  so- 
ciety is  as  full  of  exciting  interest,  as  nature  is  full  of 
beauty.  The  great  dramatic  throng  of  life  is  hustling 
.along — the  wise,  the  fool,  the  clown,  the  miser,  the 
bereaved,  the  broken-hearted.  Life  mingles  before  us 
smiles  and  tears,  sighs  and  laughter,  joy  and  gloom,  as 
the  spring  mingles  the  winter-storm  and  summer-sun- 
shine. To  this  vast  Theatre  which  God  hath  builded, 
where  stranger  plays  are  seen  than  ever  author  writ, 
man  seldom  cares  to  come.  When  God  dramatises, 
when  nations  act,  or  all  the  human  kind  conspire  to 
educe  the  vast  catastrophe,  men  sleep  and  snore,  and 
let  the  busy  scene  go  on,  unlocked,  unthought  upon  ;  and 
turn  from  all  its  varied  magnificence  to  hunt  out  some 
candle-lighted  hole  and  gaze  at  drunken  ranters,  or  cry 
at  the  piteous  virtue  of  harlots  in  distress.  It  is  my  ob- 
ject then,  not  to  withdraw  the  young  from  pleasure,  bul 
from  unworthy  pleasures ;  not  to  lessen  their  enjoy- 
ments, but  to  increase  them,  by  rejecting  the  counter- 
feit and  the  vile. 

Of  gambling,  I  have  already  sufficiently  spoken.  Of 
cock-fighting,  bear-baiting,  and  pugilistic  contests,  1 
need  to  speak  but  little.  These  are  the  desperate 
excitements  of  debauched  men;  but  no  man  becomes 
desperately  criminal,  until  he  has  been  genteelly  crimi- 
15* 


174  POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS. 

nal.  No  one  spreads  his  sail  upon  such  waters,  at 
first ;  tliese  brutal  amusements  are  but  the  gulf  into 
which  flow  all  the  streams  of  criminal  pleasures  ;  and 
they  who  embark  upon  the  river,  are  sailing  toward 
the  gulfe  Wretches  who  have  waded  all  the  depths 
of  iniquity,  and  burned  every  passion  to  the  socket, 
fmd  in  rage  and  blows  and  blood,. the  -only  stimulus  of 
which  they  are  susceptible.  You  are  training  your- 
selves to  be  just  such  wretches,  if  you  are  exhausting 
your  passions  in  illicit  indulgences. 

As  it  is  impossible  to  analyze,  separately,  each  vicious 
amusement  proffered  to  the  young,  I  am  compelled  to 
select  two,  each  the  representative  of  a  clan.  Thus,  the 
reasonings  applied""to  the  amusement  of  Racing,  apply 
equally  well  to  all  violent  amusements  which  con- 
gregate indolent  and  dissipated  men,  by  ministering  in- 
tense excitement.  The  reasonings  applied  to  the  Thea- 
tre, with  some  modifications,  apply  to  the  Circus,  to 
promiscuous  balls,  to  night-revelling,  bachanalian  feasts, 
and  to  other  similar  indulgences. 

Many,  who  are  not  in  danger,  may  incline  to  turn 
IVom  these  pages  ;  they  live  in  rural  districts,  in  vil- 
lages, or  towns,  and  are  out  of  the  reach  of  jockeys,  and 
actors,  and  gamblers.  This  is  the  very  reason  why  you 
should  read.  We  are  such  a  migratory,  restless  people, 
that  our  home  is  usually  every  where  but  at  home;  and 
almost  every  young  man  makes  annual,  or  biennial  visits 
to  famous  cities  ;  conveying  produce  to  market,  or  pur- 
chasing wares  and  goods.  It  is  at  such  times  that  the 
young  are  in  extreme  danger ;  for  they  are  particularly 
anxious,  at  such  times,  to  appear  at  their  full  age.  A 
young  man  is  ashamed,  in  a  great  hotel,  to  seem  raw  and 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  175 

not  to  know  the  mysteries  of  the  bar  and  of  the   town. 
They  put  on  a  very  remarkable  air,  which  is  meant  for 
easiness ;  they  affect  profusion  of  expense  ;  they  think  it 
meet  for  a  gentleman  to  know  nil  that  certain  other  city- 
,  gentlemen  seem  proud  of  knowing.     As  sober  citizens 
are   not  found  lounging  at  Hotels  ;  and  the  gentlemanly 
part  of  the   travelling  community,  are  usually  retiring, 
modest,  and  unnoticeable, — the  young  are  left  to  come 
in  contact  chiefly  with  a  very  flash  class  of  men  who 
swarm    about    city-Restaurateurs     and    Hotels, — swoln 
clerks,  crack  sportsmen,  epicures,  and  rich  green  youth, 
seasoning.     These  are  the  most  numerous  class  which 
engage  the    attention    of  the   young.     They    bustle    in 
the  sitting  room,  or  crowd   the   bar,  assume  the   chief 
seats  at  the  table,  and  play  the  petty   lord  in  a  manner 
so  brilliant,  a,s  altogether  to  dazzle  our  poor  country  boy, 
who  mourns  at  his  deficient  education,  at  the  poverty 
of  his  rural  oaths,  and  the  meagerness  of  those   illicit 
pleasures,  which  he  formerly  nibbled  at  with  mouselike 
stealth;  and  he  sighs  for  these   riper  accomplishments. 
Besides,   it    is   well    known,  that    large    commercial  es- 
tablishments have,  residing  at  such  hotels,  well  appoint- 
ed clerks  to  draw  customers  to  their  counter.     It  is  their 
business   to   make  your   acquaintance,  to    fish   out  the 
probable  condition  of  your  funds,  to  sweeten  your  tem- 
per with  delicate  tit-bits  of  pleasure  ;  to  take  you  to  the 
Theatre,  and  a  little  further  on,  if  need  be  ;  to  draw  you 
in  to  a  generous  supper,  and  initiate   you  to  the  high  life 
of  men  whose  whole  life   is  only  the  varied  phases  of 
lust,  gastronomical  or  amorous. 

Besides  these,  there  lurk  in  such  places  lynx-eyed  pro- 
curers ;  men  who  have  an  interest  in   your  appetites  ; 


176  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

who  look  upon  a  young  man,  with  some  money,  just  as 
a  butcher  looks  upon  a  bullock — a  thing  of  so  many 
pounds  aviordupoise,  of  so  much  beef,  so  much  tallow, 
and  a  hide.  If  you  have  nothing,  they  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  you ;  if  you  have  means,  they  undertake  to 
supply  you  with  the  disposition  to  use  them.  They 
know  the  city,  they  know  its  haunts,  they  know  its 
secret  doors,  its  blind  passages,  its  spicy  pleasures,  its 
racy  vices,  clear  down  to  the  mud-slime  of  the  very 
bottom. 

Meanwhile,  the  accustomed  restraint  of  home  cast  off, 
the  youth  feels  that  he  is  unknown,  and  may  do  what  he 
chooses,  unexposed.  There  is,  moreover,  an  intense  cu- 
riosity to  see  many  things  of  which  he  has  long  ago  heard 
and  wondered;  and  it  is  the  very  art  and  education  of 
vice,  to  make  itself  attractive.  It  comes  with  garlands 
of  roses  about  its  brow,  with  nectar  in  its  goblet,  and 
love  upon  its  tongue. 

If  you  have,  beforehand,  no  settled  opinions  as  to 
what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong ;  if  your  judgment  is 
now,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  formed  upon  the  propriety 
of  your  actions  ;  if  you  are  not  controlled  by  settled 
principles,  there  is  scarcely  a   chance   for  your  purity. 

For  this  purpose,  then,  I  desire  to  discuss  these  things, 
that  you  may  settle  your  opinions  and  principles  before 
temptation  assails  you.  As  a  ship  is  built  upon  the  dry 
shore,  which  afterwards  is  to  dare  the  storm  and  brave 
the  sea,  so  w^ould  I  build  you  staunch  and  strong,  ere 
you  be  launched  abroad  upon  life. 

I.  Racing.  This  amusement  justifies  its  existence 
by  the  plea  of  utility.  We  will  examine  it  upon  its 
own  ground.      Who   are  the  patrons  of  the  Turf? — far- 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  177 

mers  ? — laborers  1 — men  who  are  practically  the  most 
interested  in  the  improvement  of  stock?  The  unerring 
instinct  of  self-interest  would  lead  these  men  to  patro- 
nize the  Course,  if  its  utility  were  real.  It  is  notorious 
that  these  are  not  the  patrons  of  racing.  It  is  sustained 
by  two  classes  of  men — gambling  jockeys  and  jaded  rich 
men.  In  England  and  in  our  own  country,  where  the 
turf-sports  are  freshest,  they  owe  their  existence  entirely 
to  the  extraordinary  excitement  which  they  afford  to 
dissipation,  or  to  cloyed  appetites.  For  those  industrial 
purposes  for  which  the  horse  is  chiefly  valuable,  for  road- 
sters, hacks,  and  cart-horses,  what  do  the  patrons  of  the 
turf  care  ?  Their  whole  anxiety  is  centered  upon  win- 
ning cups  and  stakes ;  and  that  is  incomparably  the  best 
blood  which  will  run  the  longest  space  in  the  shortest 
time.  The  points  required  for  this  are  not,  ai*d  never 
will  be,  the  points  for  substantial  service.  And  it  is  noto- 
rious, that  racing  in  England  deteriorated  the  stock  in 
such  important  respects,  that  the  light-cavalry  and  dra- 
goon-service suffered  severely,  until  dependence  upon 
turf  stables  was  abandoned.  New  England,  where  rac- 
ing is  unknown,  is  to  this  day  the  place  where  the  horse 
exists  in  the  finest  qualities;  and  for  all  economical 
purposes,  Virginia  and  Kentucky  must  yield  to  New 
England.  Except  for  the  sole  purpose  of  racing,  an 
eastern  horse  brings  a  higher  price  than  any  other. 

The  other  class  of  patrons  who  sustain  a  Course  are 
mere  gambling  jockeys.  As  crows  to  a  corn-field,  or 
vultures  to  their  prey  ;  as  flies  to  summer-sweet,  so  to 
the  annual  races,  flow  the  whole  tribe  of  gamesters 
and  pleasure-lovers.  It  is  the  Jerusalem  of  wicked  men  ; 
and  thither  the  tribes  go  up,  like  Israel  of  old,  but  for  a 


178  POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS. 

far  different  sacrifice.  No  form  of  social  abomination 
is  unknown  or  unpracticed ;  and  if  all  the  good  that  is 
claimed,  and  a  hundred  limes  more,  were  done  to  horses, 
it  would  be  a  dear  bargain.  To  ruin  men  for  the  sake 
of  improving  horses  ;  to  sacrifice  conscience  and  purity 
for  the  sake  of  good  bones  and  muscles  in  a  beast ;  this 
is  paying  a  little  too  much  for  good  brutes.  Indeed, 
the  shameless  immorality,  the  perpetual  and  growing 
dishonesty,  the  almost  immeasurable  secret  villainy 
of  gentlemen  of  the  turf,  has  alarmed  and  disgusted 
many  stalwart  racers,  who,  having  no  objection  to 
some  evil,  are  appalled  at  the  very  ocean  of  depravity 
which  rolls  before  them.  I  extract  the  words  of  one 
of  the  very  leading  sportsmen  of  England.  '-'How  many 
fine  domains  have  been  shared  among  these  hosts  of 
rapacious  sharks,  during  the  last  two  hundred  years,- 
and,  unless  the  system  be  altered,  how  many  more  are 
doomed  to  fall  into  the  same  gulf !  For,  we  lament 
to  say,  the  evil  has  increased:  all  heretofore  has  been 
'tarts  and  cheese-cakes'  to  the  villainous  proceedings  of 
the  last  twenty  years  on  the  English  tuif'' 

1  will  drop  this  barbarous  amusement,  with  a  few  ques- 
tions. 

What  have  you,  young  men,  to  do  with  the  turf,  ad- 
mitting it  to  be  what  it  claims,  a  school  for  horses?  Are 
you  particularly  interested  in  that  branch  of  learning? 

Is  it  safe  to  accustom  yourselves  to  such  tremendous 
excitement  as  that  of  racing  ? 

Is  the  invariable  company  of  such  places  of  a  kind 
which  you  ought  to  be  found  in  ? — will  races  make  you 
more  moral  ? — more  industrious  ? — more  careful  ? — eco- 
nomical ? — trustworthy  ? 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  ITD 

You  \vho  have  attended  them,  what  advice  would 
you  give  a  young  man,  a  younger  brother  for  instance, 
who  should  seriously  ask  if  he  had  better  attend  ? 

I  digress,  to  say  one  word  to  women.  When  a  Course 
was  opened  at  Cincinnati,  ladies  would  not  attend  it : 
when  one  was  opened  here,  ladies  would  not  attend  it : 
For  very  good  reasons — tliey  were  ladies.  If  it  be  said 
that  they  attend  the  Races  at  the  South  and  in  England, 
I  reply,  that  they  do  a  great  many  other  things  which 
you  would  not  choose  to  do. 

Roman  ladies  could  see  hundreds  of  gladiators  stab 
and  hack  each  other — could  you  1  Spanish  ladies  can 
see  savage  bull-fights — would  you  ?  It  is  possible  for  a 
modest  woman  to  countenance  very  questionable  prac- 
tices, where .  the  customs  of  society  and  the  universal 
public  opinion  approve  them.  But  no  woman  can  set 
herself  against  public  opinion,  in  favor  of  an  immoral 
sport,  without  being  herself  immoral ;  for,  if  worse  be 
wanting,  it  is  immorality  enough  for  a  woman  to  put 
herself  where  her  reputation  will  lose  its  suspiciousless 
lustre. 

II.  The  Theatre.  Desperate  eflbrts  are  made,  year 
by  year,  to  resuscitate  this  expiring  evil.  Its  claims  are 
put  forth  with  vehemence.     Let  us  examine  them. 

The  Drama  cultivates  the  taste.  Let  the  appeal  be  to 
facts.  Let  the  roll  of  English  literature  be  explored — 
our  Poets,  Romancers,  Historians,  Essayists,  Critics, 
and  Divines — and  for  what  part  of  their  memorable  writ- 
ings are  we  indebted  to  the  Drama  ?  If  we  except  one 
period  of  our  literature,  the  claim  is  wholly  groundless  ; 
and  at  this  day,  the  truth  is  so  opposite  to  the  claim,  that 


180  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

extravagance,  affectation,  and  rant,  are  proverbially  de- 
nominated theatrical.  If  agriculture  should  attempt  to 
supercede  the  admirable  implements  of  husbandry,  now 
in  use,  by  the  primitive  plough  or  sharpened  sticks, 
it  would  not  be  more  absurd  than  to  advocate  that  clum- 
sy machine  of  literature,  the  Theatre,  by  the  side  of  the 
popular  lecture,  the  pulpit,  and  the  press.  It  is  not  con- 
genial to  our  age  or  necessities.  Its  day  is  gone  by — it 
is  in  its  dotage,  as  might  be  suspected,  from  the  weak- 
ness of  the  garrulous  apologies  which  it  puts  forth. 

It  is  a  school  of  jnorals. — Yes,  doubtless  !  So  the  guil- 
lotine is  defended  on  the  plea  of  humanity.  Inquisitors 
declare  their  racks  and  torture-beds  to  be  the  instru- 
ments of  love,  affectionately  admonishing  the  foUen  of 
the  error  of  their  ways.  The  slave-trade  has  been  de- 
fended on'  the  plea  of  humanity,  and  slavery  is  now 
defended  for  its  mercies.  Were  it  necessary  for  any 
school  or  party,  doubtless  we  should  hear  arguments  to 
prove  the  Devil's  grace,  and  the  utility  of  his  agency 
among  men. 

But,  let  me  settle  these  impudent  pretensions  to  Thea- 
tre-virtue, by  the  home  thrust  of  a  few  plain  questions. 

Will  any  of  you  who  have  been  to  Theatres,  please  to 
tell  me  vi'hether  virtue  ever  received  important  acces- 
sions from  the  gallery  of  Theatres  ? 

Will  you  tell  me  whether  the  Pit  is  a  place  where  an 
ordinarily  modest  man  would  love  to  seat  his  children  ? 

Was  ever  a  Theatre  known  where  a  prayer  at  the 
opening,  and  a  prayer  at  the  close,  would  not  be  tor- 
mentingly  discordant  ? 

How  does  it  happen,  that  in  a  school  for  morals,  the 
teachers  never  learn  their  own  lessons  ? 


POPULAR     AMUSEMKNTS.  181 

Would  you  allow  a  son  or  daughter  to  associate  alone 
with  actors  or  actresses  ? 

Do  these  men  who  promote  virtue  so  zealously  lohen 
actiiig,  take  any  part  in  public  moral  enterprises,  when 
their  stage  dresses  are  off? 

Which  would  surprise  you  most,  to  see  actors  steadily 
at  Church,  or  to  see  Christians  steadily  at  a  Theatre  ? 
Would  not  both  strike  you  as  singular  incongruities  ? 

What  is  the  reason  that  loose  and  abandoned  men 
abhor  religion  in  a  Church,  and  love  it  so  much  in  a 
Theatre  ? 

Since  the  Theatre  is  the  handmaid  of  virtue,  why  are 
drinking  houses  so  necessary  to  its  neighborhood,  yet  so 
offensive  to  Churches  ?  The  trustees  of  the  Tremont 
Theatre  in  Boston,  publicly  protested  against  an  order  of 
council  forbidding  liquor  to  be  sold  on  the  premises,  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  impossible  to  support  the  Thea- 
tre without  it. 

I  am  told  that  Christians  do  attend  the  Theatres.  Then 
I  will  tell  them  the  story  of  the  Ancients.  A  holy  monk 
reproached  the  devil  for  stealing  a  young  man  who  was 
found  at  the  Theatre.  He  promptly  replied,  "I  found 
him  on  my  premises,  and  took  him." 

But,  it  is  said,  if  Christians  would  take  Theatres  in 
hand,  instead  of  abandoning  them  to  loose  men,  they 
might  become  the  handmaids  of  religion.  The  Church 
has  had  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Theatre  for 
eighteen  hundred  years.  During  that  period,  every 
available  agent  for  the  diffusion  of  morality  has  been 
earnestly  tried.  The  Drama  has  been  tried.  The  re- 
sult is,  that  familiarity  has  bred  contempt  and  abhor- 
rence. If  after  so  long  and  thorough  an  acquaintance, 
16 


182  POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS. 

the  Church  stands  the  mortal  enemy  of  Theatres,  the 
testimony  is  conclusive.  It  is  the  evidence  of  genera- 
tions speaking  by  the  most  sober,  thinking,  and  honest 
men.  Let  not  this  vagabond  prostitute  pollute  any  lon- 
ger the  precincts  of  the  Church,  with  impudent  proposals 
of  alliance.  When  the  Church  needs  an  alliance  it  will 
not  look  for  it  in  the  kennel.  Ah  !  what  a  blissful  scene 
would  that  be — the  Church  and  Theatre  imparadised  in 
each  other's  arms  !  What  a  sweet  conjunction  would  be 
made,  could  we  build  our  Churches  so  as  to  preach  in  the 
morning,  and  play  in  them  by  night  I  And  how  melting 
it  would  be,  beyond  the  love  of  David  and  Jonathan,  to 
see  minister  and  actor  in  loving  embrace  ;  one  slaying 
Satan  by  direct  thrusts  of  plain  preaching,  and  the  other 
sucking  his  very  life  out  by  the  enchantment  of  the 
Drama  !  To  this  millennial  scene  of  Church  and  Thea- 
tre, I  only  suggest  a  single  improvement :  that  the  vestry 
be  enlarged  to  a  ring  for  a  Circus,  when  not  wanted  for 
prayer-meetings ;  the  Sabbath-school  room  should  be 
furnished  with  card-tables,  and  useful  texts  of  scripture 
might  be  printed  on  the  cards,  for  the  pious  meditations 
of  gamblers  during  the  intervals  of  play  and  worship. 
When  the  very  idea  of  such  a  thing  is  comedy  even  to 
farce,  what  would  its  realization  be  ? 

But  if  these  places  are  jmt  down,  men  will  go  to  w'orse 
ones.  Where  will  they  find  worse  ones  ?  Are  those 
who  go  to  the  Theatre,  the  Circus,  the  Race-course,  the 
men  who  abstain  from  worse  places  ?  It  is  notorious 
that  the  crowd  of  theatre-goers  are  vomited  up  from 
these  worse  places.  It  is  notorious  that  the  Theatre  is 
the  door  to  all  the  sinks  of  iniquity.  It  is  through  this 
infamous  place  that  the  young  learn  to  love  those  vi- 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  133 

cious  associates  and  practices  to  which,  else,  they  would 
liave  been  strangers.  Half  the  victims  of  the  gallows 
and  of  the  Penitentiary  will  tell  you,  that  these  schools 
for  morals  were  to  them  the  gate  of  debauchery,  the 
porch  of  pollution,  the  vestibule  of  the  very  house  of 
Death. 

The  lyvama  makes  one  acquainted  with  human  life,  and. 
with  nature.  It  is  too  true.  There  is  scarcely  an  evil 
incident  to  human  life,  which  may  not  be  fully  learned 
at  the  Theatre.  Here  flourishes  every  variety  of  wit — 
ridicule  of  sacred  things,  burlesques  of  religion,  and  li- 
centious douhle-entendres.  No  where  can  so  much  of 
this  lore  be  learned,  in  so  short  a  time,  as  at  the  Thea- 
tre. There  one  learns  how  pleasant  a  thing  is  vice; 
amours  are  consecrated  ;  license  is  prospered  ;  and  the 
young  come  away  alive  to  the  glorious  liberty  of  con- 
quest and  lust.  But  the  stage  is  not  the  only  place 
about  the  Drama  where  human  nature  is  learned.  In 
the  Boxes  the  young  may  make  the  acquaintance  of 
those  who  abhor  home  and  domestic  quiet ;  of  those 
who  glory  in  profusion  and  obtrusive  display ;  of  those 
who  expend  all,  and  more  than  their  earnings,  upon  gay 
clothes  and  jewelry  ;  of  those  who  think  it  no  harm  to 
borrow  their  money  ivithout  leave  from  their  employer's 
till ;  of  those  who  despise  vulgar  appetite,  but  affect  po- 
lished and  genteel  licentiousness.  Or,  he  may  go  to  the 
I'it,  and  learn  the  whole  round  of  villain-life,  from  mas- 
ters in  the  art.  He  may  sit  down  among  thieves,  blood- 
loving  scoundrels,  swindlers,  broken-down  men  of  plea- 
sure— the  coarse,  the  vulgar,  the  debauched,  the  inhuman, 
the  infernal.  Or,  if  still  more  of  human  nature  is  wished, 
he  can  learn  yet  more  ;  for  the  Theatre  epitomizes  every 


184  POPULAR     AMUSEMENTS. 

degree  of  corruption.  Let  the  virtuous  young  scholar 
go  to  the  Gallery,  and  learn  there,  decency,  modesty, 
and  refinement,  among  the  quarrelling,  drunken,  ogling, 
mincing,  brutal  women  of  the  brothel !  Ah  !  there  is  no 
place  like  the  Theatre  for  learning  hmjian  nature !  A 
young  man  can  gather  up  more  experimental  knowledge 
here  in  a  week,  than  elsewhere  in  half  a  year.  But  I 
wonder  that  the  Drama  should  ever  confess  the  fact ; 
and  yet  more,  that  it  should  lustily  plead  in  self-defence, 
that  Theatres  teach  ?nen  so  7)iuch  of  human  nature!  Here 
are  brilliant  bars,  to  teach  the  young  to  drink  ;  here  are 
gay  companions,  to  undo  in  half  an  hour  the  scruples 
formed  by  an  education  of  years ;  here  are  pimps  of 
pleasure,  to  delude  the  brain  with  bewildering  sophisms 
of  license ;  here  is  ])leasure,  all  flushed  in  its  gayest, 
boldest,  most  fascinating  forms  ;  and  few  there  be  who 
cm  resist  its  wiles,  and  fewer  3'et  who  can  yield  to 
them  and  escape  ruin.  ]f  you  would  pervert  the  taste — 
go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you  would  inibibe  false  views — 
go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you  would  eiface  as  speedily  as 
possible  all  qualms  of  conscience — go  to  the  Theatre.  If 
you  would  put  yourself  irreconcilably  against  the  spirit 
of  virtue  and  religion — go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you  would 
be  infected  with  each  particular  vice  in  the  catalogue  of 
Depravity — go  to  the  Theatre.  Let  parents,  who  wish 
to  make  their  children  weary  of  home  and  quiet  domes- 
tic enjoyments,  take  them  to  the  Theatre.  If  it  be  de- 
sirable for  the  young  to  loathe  industry  and  didactic 
reading,  and  burn  for  fierce  excitements,  and  seek  them 
by  stealth  or  through  pilferings,  if  need  be — then  send 
them  to  the  Theatre.  It  is  notorious  that  the  bill  of  fare 
at  these  temples  of  pleasure  is  made  up   to  the  taste  of 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  183 

the  lower  appetites  ;  that  low  comedy,  and  lower  farce, 
running  into  absolute  obscenity,  are  the  only  means  of 
filling  a  house.  Theatres  which  should  exhibit  nothing 
but  the  classic  Drama,  would  exhibit  it  to  empty  seats. 
They  must  be  corrupt,  to  live ;  and  those  who  attend 
them  will  be  corrupted. 

Let  me  turn  your  attention  to  several  reasons  which 
should  incline  every  young  man  to  foreswear  such  crimi- 
nal amusements. 

I.  The  first  reason  is,  their  waste  of  time.  I  do  not 
mean  that  they  waste  only  the  time  consumed  while 
you  are  within  them  ;  but  they  make  you  waste  your 
time  afterwards.  You  will  go  once,  and  wish  to  go 
again ;  you  will  go  twice,  and  seek  it  a  third  time  ; 
you  will  go  a  third  time, — a.  fourth;  and  whenever  the 
bill  flames,  you  will  be  seized  with  a  restlessness  and 
craving  to  go,  until  the  appetite  will  become  a  passion. 
You  will  then  waste  your  nights  :  your  mornings  being 
heavy,  melancholy,  and  stupid,  you  will  waste  them. 
Your  day  will  next  be  confused  and  crowded ;  your 
duties  poorly  executed  or  deferred;  habits  of  arrant 
shiftlessness  will  ensue  ;  and  day  by  day,  industry  will 
grow  tiresome,  and  leisure  sweeter,  until  you  are  a  was- 
ter of  time — an  idle  man  ;  and  if  not  a  rogue,  you  will 
be  a  fortunate  exception. 

II.  You  ought  not  to  countenance  these  things,  Z/"- 
cause  they  will  ivaste  your  money.  Young  gentlemen  ! 
squandering  is  as  shameful  as  hoarding.  A  fool  can  throw 
away,  and  a  fool  can  lock  up ;  but  it  is  a  wise  man, 
who,  neither  parsimonious  nor  profuse,  steers  the  mid- 
dle course  of  generous  economy  and  frugal  liberality. 
A  young  m.an,  at  first,  thinks  that  all  he  spends  at  such 
16* 


186  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

places,  is  the  ticket-price  of  the  Theatre,  or  the  small 
bet  on  the  races ;  and  this  he  knows  is  not  much.  But 
this  is  certainly  not  the  whole  bill — nor  half. 

First,  you  pay  your  entrance.  But  there  are  a  thou- 
sand petty  luxuries  which  one  must  not  neglect,  or  cus- 
tom will  call  him  niggard.  You  must  buy  your  cigars, 
and  your  friend's.  You  must  buy  your  juleps,  and  treat 
in  your  turn.  You  must  occasionally  wait  on  your  lady, 
and  she  must  be  comforted  with  •  divers  confections. 
You  cannot  go  to  such  places  in  homely  working  dress ; 
new  and  costlier  clothes  must  be  bought.  All  your 
companions  have  jewelry, — you  will  want  a  ring,  or  a 
seal,  or  a  golden  watch,  or  an  ebony  cane,  a  silver  tooth- 
pick, or  quizzing  glass.  Thus,  item  presses  upon  item, 
and  in  the  year  a  long  i)\l\  runs  up  of  money  spent  for 
Ultle  trifles. 

But  if  all  this  money  could  buy  you  oft'  from  the  yet 
worse  eftects,  the  bargain  would  not  be  so  dear.  But 
compare,  if  you  please,  this  mode  of  expenditure  with 
the  j)rinciple  of  your  ordinary  expense.  In  all  ordi- 
nary and  business-transactions  you  get  an  equivalent  for 
your  money, — either  food  for  support,  or  clothes  for 
comfoi't,  or  permanent  property.  But  when  a  young 
man  has  spent  one  or  two  hundred  dollars  for  the  The- 
atre, Circus,  Races,  Balls,  and  revelling,  what  has  he  to 
show  for  it  at  the  end  of  the  year?  Nothing  at  all 
good,  and  much  that  is  bad.  You  sink  your  money  as 
really  as  if  you  threw  it  into  the  sea;  and  you  do  it  in 
such  a  way  that  you  fprm  habits  of  careless  expense.  You 
lose  all  sense  of  the  value  of  j)ropert.y;  and  when  a  man 
sees  no  value  in  property,  he  will  see  no  necessity  for 
labor ;   and  when  he  is  lazy  and  careless  of  property, 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  187 

both,  he  will  be  dislwnesl.  Thus,  a  habit  which  seems 
innocent — tlie  habit  of  trifling  with  property — often  de- 
generates to  worthlessness,  indolence,  and  roguerv. 

ni.     Such  pleasures  are  incompatible  with  your  ordi- 
nary pursuits. 

The  very  way  to  ruin  an  honest  business  is  to  be 
ashamed  of  it,  or  to  put  along  side  of  it  something  which 
a  man  loves  better.  There  can  be  no  industrial  calling 
so  exciting  as  the  Theatre,  the  Circus,  and  the  Races. 
If  you  wish  to  make  your  real  business  very  stupid  and 
hateful,  visit  such  places.  After  the  glare  of  the  Theatre 
has  dazzled  your  eyes,  your  blacksmith-shop  will  look 
smuttier  than  ever  it  did  before.  After  you  have  seen 
stalwart  heroes  pounding  their  antagonists,  you  will  find 
it  a  dull  business  to  pound  iron  ;  and  a  valiant  apprentice 
who  has  seen  such  gracious  glances  of  love,  and  such  rap- 
turous kissing  of  hands,  will  hate  to  dirty  his  heroic  fin- 
gers with  mortar,  or  by  rolling  felt  on  the  hatter's  board. 
If  a  man  had  a  homely,  but  most  useful  wife — patient, 
kind,  intelligent,  hopeful  in  sorrow  and  cheerful  in  pros- 
perity, but  yet  very  plain,  very  homely, — would  he  be 
wise  to  bring  under  his  roof  a  fascinating  and  artful 
beauty  1  would  the  contrast,  and  her  w  iles,  make  him 
love  his  own  wife  better?  Young  gentlemen,  your 
wives  are  your  industrial  callings  !  These  raree-shows 
are  artful  jades,  dressed  up  on  purpose  to  purloin  your 
aflections.  Let  no  man  be  led  to  commit  adultery  with 
a  Theatre,  against  the  rights  of  his  own  trade. 

IV.  Another  reason  why  you  should  let  alone  these 
deceitful  pleasures  is,  that  they  will  engage  you  in  bad 
company.  To  the  Theatre,  the  Ball,  the  Circus,  the 
Race-course,  the  gaming-table,   resort   all   the   idle,   the 


188  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

dissipated,   the   rogues,  the  licentious,  the  epicures,  the 
gluttons,  the   artful  jades,  the  immodest  prudes,  the  joy- 
ous, the  worthless,  the  refuse.     When  you  go,  you  will 
not,  at  first,  take  introduction  to  them   all,  but  to  those 
nearest  like  yourself;  by  them,  the  way  will  be  opened 
to  others.     And  a  very  great  evil  has  befallen  a  young 
man,  when  wicked  men  feel  that  they  have  a  right  to  his 
acquaintance.     When  I  see  a  gambler  slapping  a  young- 
mechanic  on  the  back  ;  or  a  lecherous  scoundrel  sutiusing 
a  young  man's  cheek   by  a  story  at  which,  despite   his 
blushes,  he  yet  laughs  ;  I  know  the  youth  has  been  guilty 
of  criminal   indiscretion,  or   these   men  could   not   ap- 
proach him  thus.     That  is  a  brave  and  strong  heart  that 
can  stand  up  pure  in   a  company  of  artful   wretches. 
When   wicked  men  mean  to  seduce  a   young  man,  so 
tremendous  are   the   odds   in   favor  of  practised   experi- 
ence against  innocence,  that  there  is  not  one  chance  in 
a  thousand,  if  the  young  man  lets  ihem  approach  liim. 
Let   every   young  man    remember   that   he  carries,  by 
nature,  a  breast  of  passions  just  such  as  bad  men  have. 
With   youth,  they  slumber ;    but    temptation  can   wake 
them,    bad   men    can    influence    them ;    they   know  the 
road,  they   know  how   to  serenade  the  heart ;    how  to 
raise  the  sash,  and  flope  with    each   passion.     There  is 
but  one  resource  for  innocence  among  men  or  women  ; 
and  that  is,  an  embargo  upon  all  commerce  of  bad  men. 
Bar    the   window  ! — bolt    the    door ! — nor  answer  their 
strain,  if  they  charm  never  so  wisely  !     In  no  other  wav 
can  you  be  safe.     So  well  am  I  assured  of  the  power  of 
bad  men  to  seduce   the  erring  purity  of  man,  that  I  pro- 
nounce   it   next    to    impossible   for   man   or   woman   to 
escape,  if  they  permit  bad  men   to  approach    and  dally 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  189 

ivith  them.  Oh  !  there  is  more  than  mngic  in  tempta- 
tion, when  it  beams  down  upon  the  heart  of  man,  like 
the  sun  upon  a  morass  !  At  the  noontide-hour  of  pu- 
rity, the  mists  shall  rise  and  wreath  a  thousand  fantastic 
forms  of  delusion  ;  and  a  sudden  freak  of  passion,  a  sin- 
gle gleam  of  the  imagination,  one  sudden  rush  of  the 
capricious  heart,  and  the  resistance  of  years  may  be 
prostrated  in  a  moment,  the  heart  entered  by  the  besieg- 
ing enemy,  its  rooms  sought  out,  and  every  lovely  affec- 
tion rudely  siezed  by  the  invader's  lust,  and  given  to 
ravishment  and  to  ruin  ! 

V.  Putting  together  in  one  class,  all  gamblers,  cir- 
cus-riders, actors  and  racing  jockeys,  I  pronounce  tliem  to 
be  men  who  live  off  of  society  without  returning  any 
useful  equivalent  for  their  support.  At  the  most  lenient 
sentence,  they  are  a  band  of  gay  idlers.  They  do  not 
throw  one  cent  into  the  stock  of  public  good.  They  do 
not  make  shoes,  or  hats,  or  houses,  or  harness,  or  any 
thing  else  that  is  useful.  A  hostler  is  useful  ;  he  per- 
forms a  necessary  office.  A  scullion  is  useful ;  some- 
body must  act  his  part.  A  street-sweeper,  a  chimney- 
sweep, the  seller  of  old  clothes,  a  scavenger,  a  tinker,  a 
bootblack — all  these  men  are  respectable  ;  for  though 
their  callings  are  very  humble,  they  are  founded  on  the 
real  wants  of  society.  The  bread  which  such  men  eat 
is  the  representation  of  what  they  have  done  for  society  ; 
not  the  bread  of  idleness,  but  of  usefulness.  But  what 
do  pleasure-mongers  do  for  a  living  ? — what  do  they 
invent  1 — what  do  they  make  ? — what  do  they  repair  1 — 
what  do  they  for  the  mind,  for  the  body,  for  man,  or 
child,  or  beast  ?  The  dog  that  gnaws  a  refuse  bone, 
pays  for  it  in  barking  at  a  thief.     The  cat  that  purs  its 


190  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

gratitude  for  a  morsel  of  meat,  will  clear-  our  house  of 
rats.  But  what  do  we  get  in  return  for  supporting 
whole  loads  of  play-mongers,  and  circus-clowns  ?  They 
eat,  they  drink,  they  giggle,  they  grimace,  they  strut  in 
gairish  clothes — and  what  else  ?  They  have  not  aflbrded 
even  useful  amusement  ;  they  are  professional  laugh- 
makers  ;  their  trade  is  comical  or  tragical  huffoonery — 
the  trade  of  tickling  men.  We  do  not  feel  any  need  of 
them,  before  they  come  ;  and  when  they  leave,  the  only 
etfects  resulting  from  their  visit  are,  unruly  boys,  aping 
apprentices,  and  unsteady  workmen. 

Now,  upon  principles  of  mere  political  economy,  is  it 
wise  to  support  a  growing  class  of  improvident  idlers  ? 
If,  at  the  top  of  society,  the  government  should  erect  a 
class  of  favored  citizens,  and  pamper  their  idleness 
with  fat  pensions,  the  indignation  of  the  whole  com- 
munity would  break  out  against  such  privileged  aristo- 
crats. But,  we  have,  at  the  bottom  of  society,  a  set  of 
wandering,  joking,  dancing,  fiddling  aristocrats,  whom 
we  support  for  the  sake  of  their  capers,  grins,  and  caric- 
atures upon  life,  and  no  one  seems  to  think  tliis  an  evil. 

VI.  But  even  this  is  cheap  and  wise,  to  the  evil 
which  I  shall  mention.  If  these  renegade  morality- 
teachers  could  guarantee  us  against  all  evil  from  their 
doings,  we  might  pay  their  support  and  think  it  a  cheap 
bargain.  The  direct  and  necessary  effect  of  their  pur- 
suit, however,  is  to  demoralize  men.  The  tyranny  which 
taxes  our  money  is  mild  and  angelic,  to  the  despotic 
tyranny  which  taxes  our  morals. 

Those  who  defend  Theatres  would  scora  to  admit  ac- 
tors into  their  society.  It  is  within  the  knowledge  of  all, 
that  men,  who  thus  cater  for  yublic  pleasure,  are  excluded 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  191 

from  respectable  society.  The  general  fact  is  not  alter- 
ed by  the  exceptions — and  honorable  exceptions  there 
are.  But  where  there  is  one  Siddons,  and  one  Ellen 
Tree,  and  one  Fanny  Kemble,  how  many  hundred  ac- 
tresses are  there  who  dare  not  venture  within  modest 
society  ?  Where  there  is  one  Garrick  and  Sheridan,  how 
many  thousand  licentious  wretches  are  there,  whose  act- 
ing is  but  a  means  of  sensual  indulgence  ?  In  the  support 
of  gamblers,  circus-riders,  actors,  and  racing-jockeys,  a 
Christian  and  industrious  people  are  guilty  of  supporting 
mere  mischief-makers — men  whose  very  heart  is  dis- 
eased, and  whose  sores  exhale  contagion  to  all  around 
them.  We  pay  moral  assassins  to  stab  the  purity  of  om' 
children.  We  warn  our  sons  of  temptation,  and  yet 
plant  the  seeds  which  shall  bristle  with  all  the  spikes  and 
thorns  of  the  worst  temptation.  If  to  this  strong  lan- 
guage, you  answer,  that  these  men  are  generous  and 
jovial,  that  their  very  business  is  to  please,  that  they  do 
not  mean  to  do  harm, — I  reply,  that  I  do  not  charge 
them  with  trying  to  produce  immorality,  but  with  pur- 
suing a  course  which  produces  it,  whether  they  try  or 
not.  An  evil  example  does  harm  by  its  own  liberty, 
without  asking  leave.  Moral  disease,  like  the  plague,  is 
contagious,  whether  the  patient  wishes  it  or  not.  A  vile 
man  infects  his  children  in  spite  of  himself.  Criminals 
make  criminals,  just  as  taint  makes  taint,  disease  makes 
disease,  plagues  make  plagues.  Those  who  run  the  gay 
round  of  pleasure  cannot  help  dazzling  the  young,  con- 
founding their  habits,  and  perverting  their  morals — it  is 
the  very  nature  of  their  employment. 

These  demoralizing  professions  could  not  be  sustained 
but  by   the   patronage   of  moral   men.     Where  do   the 


192  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

clerks,  the  apprentices,  the  dissipated,  get  their  money 
which  buys  an  entrance  ?  From  whom  is  that  money 
drained,  always,  in  every  land,  which  supports  vice  ? 
Unquestionably  from  the  good,  the  laborious,  the  careful. 
The  skill,  the  enterprise,  the  labor,  the  good  morals  of 
every  nation,  are  always  taxed  for  the  expenses  of  vice. 
Jails  are  built  out  of  honest  men's  earnings.  Courts  are 
supported  from  peaceful  men's  property.  Penitentiaries 
are  built  by  the  toil  of  virtue.  Crime  never  pays  its 
own  way.  Vice  has  no  hands  to  work,  no  head  to  cal- 
culate. Its  whole  faculty  is  to  corrupt  and  to  waste  ;  and 
good  men,  directly  or  indirectly,  foot  the  bill. 

At  this  time,  when  we  are  waiting  in  vain  for  the  re- 
turn of  that  bread  which  we  wastefuUy  cast  upon  the 
waters ;  when,  all  over  the  sea,  men  are  fishing  up  the 
wrecks  of  those  argosies,  and  full  freighted  fortunes, 
which  foundered  in  the  sad  storm  of  recent  times, — some 
question  might  be  asked  about  the  economy  of  vice  ; — 
the  economy  of  paying  for  our  son's  idleness  ;  the  econ- 
omy of  maintaining  a  whole  lazy  profession  of  gamblers, 
racers,  actresses,  and  actors, — human,  equine,  and  bellu- 
ine  ; — whose  errand  is  mischief,  and  luxury,  and  license, 
and  giggling  folly.  It  ought  to  be  asked  of  men  who  groan 
at  a  tax  to  pay  their  honest  foreign  debts,  whether  they 
can  be  taxed  to  pay  the  bills  of  mountebanks  ?* 

*  We  cannot  pay  for  honest  lonns,  but  we  can  pay  Elssler  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands for  being  an  airy  sylph!  America  can  pay  vagabond-fiddlers,  strumpet- 
dancers,  fashionable  actors,  dancing-horses,  and  boxing-men  !  Heaven  forbid 
that  these  should  want !— but  to  pay  honest  debts, — indeed,  indeed,  we  have 
honorable  scruples  of  conscience  about  that ! ! 

Let  our  foreign  creditors  dismiss  their  fears,  and  forgiv^  us  the  commercial 
debt;  write  no  more  drowsy  letters  about  public  faith;  let  them  write  spicy 
comedies,  and  send  over  fiddlers,  and  dancers,  and[  actors,  and  singers  ; — they 
will  soon  collect  the  debt  and  keep  us  good  natured  !  After  every  extenuation 
— hard  times,  deficient  currency,  want  of  market,  &c.,  there  is  a  deeper  reason 
than  these  at  the  bottom  of  our  inert  indebtedness.  Living  among  the  body 
of  the  people,  and  having  nothing  to  lose  or  gain  by  my  opinions,  I  must  say 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS.  193 

It  is  astonishing  how  little  the  influence  of  those  pro- 
fessions has  been  considered,  which  exert  themselves 
mainly  to  delight  the  sensual  feelings  of  men.  That 
whole  race  of  men,  whose  camp  is  the  Theatre,  the  Cir- 
cus, the  Turf,  or  the  Gaming-table,  is  a  race  whose  in- 
stinct is  destruction,  who  live  to  corrupt,  and  live  off 
of  the  corruption  which  they  make.  For  their  sup- 
port, we  sacrifice  annual  hecatombs  of  youthful  victims. 
Even  sober  Christian  men,  look  smilingly  upon  the  gairish 
outside  of  these  trainbands  of  destruction  ;  and  while  we 
see  the  results  to  be,  uniformly,  dissipation,  idleness,  dis- 
honesty, vice,  and  crime,  still  they  lull  us  with  the  lying 
lyric  of  ^classic  drama^  and  ''human  life,''  hnoralitij.' 
^ poetry^  and  ^divine  comedy!'' 

Disguise  it  as  you  will,  these  men  of  pleasure  are,  the 
world  over,  corrupters  of  youth.  Upon  no  principle 
of  kindness  can  we  tolerate  them;  no  excuse  is  bold 
enough;  we  can  take  bail  from  none  of  their  weaknesses 
— it  is  not  safe  to  have  them  abroad  even  upon  excessive 
bail.  You  might  as  well  take  bail  of  lions,  and  allow  scor- 
pions to  breed  in  our  streets  for  a  suitable  license  ;  or  for 
a  tax  indulge  assassins.     Men  whose  life  is  given  to  evil 

plainly,  that  the  community  are  not  sensitive  to  the  disgrace  of  flagrant  pub- 
lic bankruptcy;  they  do  not  seem  to  care  whether  their  public  debt  be  paid  or 
not.  I  perceive  no  enthusiasm  on  that  subject :  it  is  not  a  topic  for  either 
party,  nor  of  anxious  private  conversation.  A  profound  indebtedness,  ruin- 
ous to  our  credit  and  to  our  morals,  is  allowed  to  lie  at  the  very  bottom  of 
the  abyss  of  dishonest  indifference. 

Men  love  to  be  taxed  for  their  lusts ;  there  is  an  open  exchequer  for  licen- 
tiousness, and  for  giddy  pleasure.  We  grow  suddenly  saving,  when  benevo- 
lence asks  alms,  or  justice  duns  for  debts:  we  dole  a  pittance  to  suppliant 
creditors,  to  be  rid  ot  their  clamor.  But  let  the  divine  Fanny,  with  evolutions 
extremely  efficacious  upon  the  feelings,  fire  the  enthusiasm  of  a  whole  Theatre 
of  men,  whose  applauses  rise — as  she  does;  let  this  courageous  dancer,  almost 
literally  true  to  nature,  disjilay  her  adventurous  feats  before  a  thousand  men. 
whose  hearts  are  glowing  furnaces  of  ihrice-heated  lusts,  and  the  very  miser 
will  turn  spendthrift;  the  land  which  will  not  pay  its  honest  creditors,  will 
enrich  a  strolling  harlot,  and  rain  down  upon  the  stage  a  stream  of  golden 
LiDxe.",  or  golden  coin,  wreaths  and  rosy  billet-doux ! 

17 


194  POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS. 

pleasure  are,  to  ordinary  criminals,  what  a  universal  pes- 
tilence is  to  local  disease.  They  fill  the  air,  pervade  the 
community,  and  bring  around  every  youth  an  amosphere 
of  death.  Corrupters  of  youth  have  no  mitigation  of  their 
baseness.  Their  generosity  avails  nothing,  their  know- 
ledge nothing,  their  varied  accomplishments  nothing. 
These  are  only  so  many  facilities  for  greater  evil.  Is  a 
serpent  less  deadly,  because  his  burnished  scales  shine? 
Shall  a  dove  praise  and  court  the  vulture,  because  he  has 
such  glossy  plumage?  The  more  accomplisments  a  bad 
man  has,  the  more  dangerous  is  he  ; — they  are  the  gar- 
lands which  cover  up  the  knife  with  which  he  will  stab. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  good  corrupters.  You  might 
as  well  talk  of  a  mild  and  pleasant  murder,  a  very  le- 
nient assassination,  a  grateful  stench,  or  a  pious  devil. 
We  denounce  them  ;  for  it  is  our  nature  to  loathe  perfi- 
dious corruption.  We  have  no  compunction  to  withhold 
us.  We  mourn  over  a  torn  and  bleeding  lamb  ;  but  who 
mourns  the  wolf  which  rent  it  ?  We  weep  for  despoiled 
innocence ;  but  who  sheds  a  tear  for  the  savage  fiend, 
who  plucks  away  the  flower  of  virtue  ?  We  shudder 
and  pray  for  the  shrieking  victim  of  the  Incjuisition  ;  but 
who  would  spare  the  hoary  Inquisitor,  before  whose 
shriveled  form  the  piteous  maid  implores  relief  in  vain  ? 
Even  thus,  we  palliate  the  sins  of  generous  youth  ;  and 
their  downfall  is  our  sorrow  :  but  for  their  destroyers, 
for  the  Corrupters  of  youth,  who  practice  the  infernal 
chemistry  of  ruin,  and  dissolve  the  young  heart  in  vice — 
we  have  neither  tears,  nor  pleas,  nor  patience.  We  lift 
our  heart  to  Him  who  beareth  the  iron  rod  of  vengeance, 
and  pray  for  the  appointed  time  of  judgment.  Ye  mis- 
creants !  think  ye  that  ye  are  growing  tall,  and  walking 


POPULAR      AMUSEMENTS 


19^ 


safely,  because  God  hath  forgotten  ?  The  bolt  shall  yet 
smite  you  !  you  shall  be  heard  as  the  falling  of  an  oak  in 
the  silent  forest — the  vaster  its  growth,  the  more  terrible 
its  resounding  downfall !  Oh  thou  Corrupter  of  youth  ! 
I  would  not  take  thy  death,  for  all  the  pleasure  of  thy 
guilty  life,  a  thousand  fold.  Thou  shalt  draw  near  to  tlie 
shadow  of  death.  To  the  Christian,  these  shades  are  the 
golden  haze  which  heaven's  light  makes,  when  it  meets 
the  earth  and  mingles  with  its  shadows.  But  to  thee, 
these  shall  be  shadows  full  of  phantom-shapes.  Images 
of  terror  in  the  Future  shall  dimly  rise  and  beckon  ; — 
the  ghastly  deeds  of  the  Past  shall  stretch  out  their 
skinny  hands  to  push  thee  forward  !  Thou  shall  not 
die  unattended.  Despair  shall  mock  thee.  Agony  shall 
tender  to  thy  parched  lips  her  fiery  cup.  Remorse  shall 
feel  for  thy  heart,  and  rend  it  open.  Good  men  shall 
breathe  freer  at  thy  death,  and  utter  thanksgiving  when 
thou  art  gone.  Men  shall  place  thy  grave-stone  as  a 
monument  and  testimony  that  a  plague  is  stayed  ;  no 
tear  shall  wet  it,  no  mourner  linger  there  !  And,  as 
borne  on  the  blast,  thy  guilty  spirit  whistles  toward  the 
gate  of  hell,  the  hideous  shrieks  of  those  whom  thy  hand 
hath  destroyed,  shall  pierce  thee — hell's  first  welcome. 
It  is  moved  for  thee  ;  it  stirreth  up  the  dead  at  thy  com- 
ing !  As  a  bird  of  prey,  venturing  out  when  a  storm  is 
abroad,  is  caught  up  in  the  eddying  whirlwind,  and  tossed, 
ruffled  and  whirled,  and  at  last  wrapped  and  hid  in  the 
dark  cloud,  and  lost  to  our  sight — so,  in  the  bosom  of  that 
everlasting  storm  which  rains  perpetual  misery  in  hell, 
shalt  thou,  CORRUPTER  OF  YOUTH  !  be  forever  hidden  from 
our  view  : — and  may  God  wipe  out  the  very  thougiits  of 
thee  from  our  memorv^ 


.■X- 


